The 
Carcellini   Emerald 

With  Other  Tales 


"MAID?  NEVER  HAD  SUCH  A  THING  IN  MY  LIFE,"  LAUGHED 
CECILY;  "AND  WHAT  WOULD  HA'  BEEN  THE  USE,  WHEN  MR. 
LENVALE  WOULD  INSIST  ON  ESCORTING  ME." 


The 

Carcellini  Emerald 

With  Other  Tales 


BY 


MRS.  BURTON  HARRISON 


HERBERT  S.  STONE  AND  COMPANY 
CHICAGO  AND  NEW  YORK 

MDCCCXCIX 
* 


COPYRIGHT     1899    BY 
HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  CO. 


THE  PUBLISHERS  ACKNOWLEDGE  THE  COURTESY  OF 
THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY  (THE  SATURDAY 
EVENING  POST),  MAST,  CROWELL  AND  KIRKPATRICK 
(THE  WOMAN'S  HOME  COMPANION),  AND  HARPER  AND 
BROTHERS,  IN  ALLOWING  THE  USE  OK  ILLUSTRATIONS 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


The  Carcellini  Emerald  ...  3 
An  Author's  Reading  and  its  Consequences  77 
Leander  of  Betsy's  Pride  .  .  .103 
The  Three  Misses  Benedict  at  Yale  .  .123 
A  Girl  of  the  Period  .  .  .  .169 
The  Stolen  Stradivarius  .  .  .  205 
Wanted:  A  Chaperon  ....  287 


99 


:9 


THE  CARCELLINI  EMERALD 


THE  CARCELLINI  EMERALD 


How  did  Ashton  Carmichael  come  by  his 
aristocratic  and  decidedly  individual  place  as  a 
dictator  in  New  York's  smart  society?  Nobody 
knew;  nobody  really  cared.  In  his  set  it  was 
sufficient  for  one  sheep  to  jump,  and  all  the  rest 
would  follow.  He  was  as  much  a  power  as  was 
Beau  Brummell  over  modish  London  in  the  days 
of  the  Regency.  Asked  everywhere,  deferred  to 
with  bated  breath  by  new  aspirants,  he  was  seen 
only  at  the  houses  of  authenticated  fashion.  In 
the  clubs  to  which  he  belonged — and  the  list  of 
them  was  long,  following  his  name  in  the  Social 
Register — some  men  affected  to  pooh-pooh  his 
right  to  membership;  but  rarely  was  there  a 
member  of  a  committee  on  admissions  found  to 
vote  against  him  on  the  score  of  fitness.  Good- 
looking,  gentlemanlike,  amusing  when  it  suited 
him  to  be  so,  sarcastic — and,  on  occasion,  offen- 
sively snobbish — his  uncertainties  of  mood  lent 
zest  to  pursuit  by  his  admirers.  He  had  no 
3 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

known  income  beyond  that  derived  from  a  nebu- 
lous business  in  real  estate  in  which  he  was 
alleged  to  hold  a  partnership.  His  place  of  resi- 
dence was  in  a  couple  of  cheapish  rooms  in  an 
out-of-the-way  neighborhood.  But  all  the  good 
things  of  life  seemed  to  fall  easily  to  his  share ; 
and  winter  and  summer,  on  land,  at  sea,  he  was 
heard  of,  in  ripe  enjoyment  of  luxuries  earned  or 
inherited  by  other  people. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  while  the  general  public 
languished  in  ignorance  of  Carmichael's  ante- 
cedents, there  were  two  or  three  individuals  in 
New  York  who  could  have  told  his  story  from  A 
to  Z,  but  preferred  for  various  reasons  to  keep 
their  mouths  shut.  One  of  these  was  Tom 
Oliver,  Carmichael's  chum  at  college  and  his 
sponsor  in  the  initiatory  steps  of  worldly  prog- 
ress. Another  was  Tom's  sister  Eunice,  now 
pretty  Mrs.  Arden  Farnsworth,  who,  in  days  of 
lang  syne,  had  been  engaged  to  her  brother's 
handsome  friend. 

The  third  was  a  brave,  hard-working  young 
woman  journalist  on  the  staff  of  a  great  city 
newspaper;  a  girl  who  never  troubled  Carmichael 
with  her  presence,  although  she  bore  his  name, 
and  had  given  all  her  little  patrimony  to  help  her 
only  brother  through  the  university  and  provide 
him  a  start  in  life. 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

It  was  at  the  beginning  of  senior  year,  when 
Tom  Oliver  came  back  to  college  to  surprise  his 
friends  by  the  announcement  of  his  rich  father's 
insolvency.  Up  to  that  time  Tom  had  been 
regarded  as  a  prince  of  generosity  and  good-fel- 
lowship. His  liberal  allowance  was  lavished 
upon  college  subscriptions  and  other  fellows' 
debts  as  soon  as  it  came  into  his  hands.  Before 
the  end  of  the  month  he  was  as  impecunious  as 
the  rest  of  them.  The  blow  of  his  sudden 
change  of  prospects  did  not,  therefore,  afflict  him 
as  much  as  might  have  been  expected.  As  for 
the  democratic,  happy-go-lucky  band  who  for 
three  years  had  made  him  their  hero,  it  seemed, 
if  anything,  to  bring  him  nearer  to  their  level. 
As  a  rule,  the  chaps  of  their  brotherhood  were 
the  sons  of  toilers,  accustomed  to  scant  means 
and  modest  ways  of  life,  who  looked  forward  to 
opening  the  world's  oyster  with  their  own  swords, 
or  nobody's.  The  man  who  appeared  most  to 
feel  the  hero's  altered  circumstances  was  his 
room-mate,  known  as  Ash  Carmichael,  a  fellow 
the  crowd  had  taken  in  among  them  through  a 
not  unnatural  delusion  that  his  being  so  intimate 
with  Tom  made  him  of  Tom's  sort.  Oliver 
and  he  had  drifted  together  in  freshman  year,  and 
Ash  was  indebted  to  Tom  for  a  long  list  of  solid 
benefits  bestowed  with  the  same  recklessness  of 
5 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

consequences  and  loyalty  of  affection  that  had 
marked  every  kind  action  of  the  young  man's 
life. 

On  all  occasions  when  it  was  possible  Tom  had 
taken  Ashton  home  to  New  York  with  him  for 
the  holidays  and  flying  visits.  The  latter  had 
spent  two  months  of  the  summer  preceding 
senior  year  at  the  Olivers'  house  at  Newport, 
where  he  had  made  acquaintance  with  some  of 
the  people  who  were  afterward  to  be  his  spon- 
sors in  fashionable  life.  The  stress  he  laid  upon 
these  individuals,  their  homes  and  habits,  had 
elicited  from  his  chum  a  great  deal  of  good- 
natured  fun  at  Carmichael's  expense.  But  as 
that  was  the  only  thing  he  ever  enjoyed  at  the 
expense  of  that  individual,  Tom  was  entitled  to 
make  the  most  of  it. 

For  Tom  himself  the  smart  people  who  forever 
dined  and  drove  and  yachted  and  gave  incessant 
dinners  had  no  attraction.  Mrs.  Oliver,  a 
devotee  of  the  gay  world,  and  Charlotte,  her 
older  daughter,  who  followed  in  the  mother's 
footsteps,  had  ceased  chiding  their  recreant 
brother,  and  were  rather  inclined  to  hustle  him 
out  of  the  observation  of  their  all-important 
circle.  Eunice,  the  younger  girl,  who  adored 
Tom,  used  often  to  fall  behind  in  the  fashionable 
procession  for  the  pleasure  of  sharing  her  broth- 
6 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

er's  pastimes.  In  athletics  Tom  had  trained 
her  well,  and  here  Ash  Carmichael  had  first 
elicited  her  girlish  admiration,  for  he  was  an 
adept  in  all  sports  requiring  grace  and  activity. 

But  then  even  Mrs.  Oliver  told  her  son  that 
his  chum  was  the  only  "possible"  college-mate 
he  had  ever  brought  under  the  patrimonial  roof- 
tree! 

When  the  crash  of  Tom's  prospects  came  as  to 
finances  Carmichael  was  disagreeably  taken  by 
surprise.  The  manifestation  to  his  friend  of  the 
exact  condition  of  his  feelings  on  this  subject 
was,  on  the  whole,  more  trying  to  Tom  than  the 
original  blow. 

The  first  public  move  in  the  disintegration  of 
their  friendship  was  Tom's  withdrawal  from  the 
expensive  rooms  they  had  occupied  together 
since  freshman  year  into  much  cheaper  lodgings. 

Ash  promptly  installed  in  his  place  a  wealthy 
and  inane  classmate  whom  the  "crowd"  had 
antecedently  styled  "Miss  Willie. "  There  was  a 
groan  of  derision  among  the  fellows  for  this  sub- 
stitute for  Tom ;  and  at  an  impromptu  meeting 
of  leading  spirits  in  Tom's  new  rooms,  in  an  old 
and  shabby  quarter,  it  was  voted  to  give  Car- 
michael henceforth  what  they  called  the  "icy 
nod." 

After  the  Christmas  holidays,  which  Ash  spent 

7 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

with  "Miss  Willie's"  family,  something  occurred 
to  bring  upon  Tom's  former  chum  a  ban  more 
serious  than  what  had  preceded  it.  The  offense, 
the  discovery  of  it,  the  discussion,  and  the  ver- 
dict were  known  to  only  a  few  of  Tom  Oliver's 
most  devoted  henchmen.  Outsiders,  aware  of 
some  dark  mystery  in  process  of  solution,  talked 
of  it — speculated  curiously — but  got  no  farther. 
That  Carmichael  had  done  something  awfully 
shady  was  generally  believed.  What  that  some- 
thing was  nobody  could  find  out.  But  during 
the  whole  time  of  the  agitation  Tom  went  about 
black  as  a  thunder-cloud  and  silent  as  the  grave. 

If  the  Faculty  knew  anything  of  these  proceed- 
ings it  was  based  upon  vague  rumor  only,  or 
came  by  intuition.  They  had  nothing  to  take 
hold  of,  on  which  to  condemn  Carmichael.  It 
was  generally  believed,  among  them  and  the 
undergraduates,  that  a  few  men  under  Oliver's 
leadership  had  rectified  whatever  wrong  was 
done;  had  saved  Carmichael  from  disgrace  and 
exposure ;  and  had  then  agreed  to  hush  the  mat- 
ter up. 

Before  graduating,  Carmichael  took  a  prize 
for  an  uncommonly  clever  essay,  which  he  deliv- 
ered with  ease  and  distinction  before  an  audience 
of  whom  the  strangers  applauded  him  to  the 
echo.  When  he  took  his  degree,  and  the  class 
8 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

was  about  to  scatter,  he  was  so  much  alone  that 
nobody  thought  of  asking  what  he  meant  to  do 
in  the  future.  When  next  heard  from  by  his  late 
associates  Mr.  Carmichael  had  set  out  on  a  jour- 
ney to  Europe  to  end  in  the  circuit  of  the  globe, 
as  the  companion  of  "Miss  Willie, "  whose  family 
defrayed  all  expenses. 

About  this  time  Tom  Oliver,  in  a  suit  of 
greasy  overalls,  was  beginning  his  labors  in  the 
repair-shops  of  a  great  railway  in  a  little  Penn- 
sylvania town,  to  obtain  intimate  personal  knowl- 
edge of  all  parts  of  the  mighty  motor  that  was 
henceforward  to  control  his  destiny.  For,  at 
the  advice  of  a  friend  of  his  father,  he  had  deter- 
mined to  work  up  from  the  bottom  of  the  railroad 
business  to  as  near  the  top  as  ambition  and 
energy  might  ultimately  carry  him.  Tom  had 
need  of  all  his  pluck  during  the  summer  of  this 
first  apprenticeship  to  toil.  His  father,  overwor- 
ried  and  outworn,  was  stricken  with  apoplexy  in 
New  York,  and  suddenly  passed  away.  Simply 
because  he  could  not  tell  what  better  to  do  for 
them,  Tom  transferred  his  mother  and  sisters  to 
live  in  a  cottage  in  the  suburbs  of  the  town 
where  he  was  employed. 

Oh,  the  tragedy  of  life  when  small  souls  meet 
larger  ones  in  everyday  friction !  Mrs.  Oliver  and 
Charlotte,  banded  against  Tom  and  Eunice,  made 
9 


THE  CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

those  summer  days  in  the  hot  little  house  twice 
their  ordinary  length.  And  Tom  saw,  in  spite  of 
her  persistent  effort  to  make  the  best  of  things, 
that  little  Eunice  was  carrying  a  burden  more 
heavy  for  her  shoulders  than  the  loss  of  a  great 
house,  a  troop  of  friends,  servants,  and  finery. 
Nor  was  it  her  mourning  for  the  father  she  had 
loved  tenderly  that  oppressed  her.  Of  him  she 
and  Tom  talked  together  frequently,  and  with 
honest  feeling.  But  there  was  something  else — 
something  she  hugged  to  her  heart  in  silence, 
that  grew  worse  as  the  summer  waned. 

Just  when  matters  were  at  their  worst  with  the 
little  household — when  petty  domestic  trials  beat 
like  billows  over  poor  Tom's  head — when  Eunice 
began  to  look  like  an  image  of  hope  deferred — a 
visitor  arrived.  Tom  heartily  welcomed  Arden 
Farnsworth,  a  man  much  older  than  himself,  who 
in  years  past  had  been  often  at  their  home.  A 
dim  idea  that  Farnsworth  had  come  after  Chatty 
penetrated  the  brother's  head.  It  occurred  to 
him  that  among  his  mother's  abundant  lamenta- 
tions for  lost  joys  she  had  mentioned  the  fact 
that  last  winter  she  had  been  almost  sure  Farns- 
worth would  propose  for  Chatty,  but  that  he  had 
gone  abroad  and  made  no  sign.  And  Farns- 
worth, as  everybody  knew,  would  be  a  husband 
in  a  hundred — well  born,  well  placed,  of  such 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

character,  means,  and  position  as  would  anchor 
the  whole  Oliver  family  away  from  the  quick- 
sands of  their  present  uncertainties. 

Then  it  came  out  it  was  Eunice,  not  Charlotte, 
whom  Farnsworth  wanted  for  a  wife  —  whom 
he  had  loved  for  a  year  past,  and  left  because  he 
feared  she  would  laugh  at  the  disparity  between 
their  ages — nineteen  and  thirty-five — whom  he 
had  now  come  back  to  America  resolved  to 
secure,  if  earnest  pleading  would  avail. 

But  Eunice,  urged  to  the  front  by  her  mother, 
who  philosophically  made  up  her  mind  that  one, 
if  not  the  one  she  had  counted  upon  of  her 
daughters,  should  recoup  their  lost  fortune  and 
position,  disappointed  all  the  family  hopes.  She 
told  Arden  Farnsworth  that  it  was  impossible  for 
her  to  marry  him,  and  sent  him  away  pierced 
with  sorrow  at  his  failure.  His  generous  nature 
longed  for  an  opportunity  to  place  the  dainty 
little  beauty  back  in  the  niche  where  she 
belonged.  For  her  sake  he  was  prepared  to 
make  any  provision  for  Mrs.  Oliver  and  Chatty, 
short  of  offering  them  the  hospitality  of  his 
houses  and  yacht  and  other  such  covetable  spots 
where  the  Farnsworth  Penates  were  enshrined. 

In  the  tempest  that  broke  over  Eunice  after 
Farnsworth's  departure,  Tom  learned  his  sister's 
secret.  She  came  to  him,  trembling  and  tear- 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

ful,  nestled  in  his  breast,  and  told  him  that  for  a 
year  she  had  considered  herself  engaged  to 
Ashton  Carmichael. 

"What!"  shouted  Tom,  loosening  his  hold  of 
her,  his  eyes  darting  angry  lightning.  "That 

!  Why,  Eunice,  it  is  impossible!  You 

cannot  have  met  him  since  I  broke  with  him  last 
autumn  a  year  ago." 

"Oh,  Tom!  How  dreadful  you  look!  Of 
course  I  knew  you  were  no  longer  friends.  It 
was  just  after  poor  papa's  troubles  began  when 
Ashton  wrote  to  me  that  you  had  separated,  and 
that  pride  would  not  allow  him  to  correspond 
with  me  after  what  had  taken  place  between  you. 
Then  once,  during  the  Christmas  holidays,  I  met 
him  in  the  street,  and  we  took  a  walk  together, 
and  he  begged  me  to  be  true  to  him  and  all 
would  come  out  right.  But  still  we  did  not 
write,  until — " 

"Don't  tell  me  he  dared  approach  you  after 
February!"  exclaimed  Tom,  white  to  the  lips 
with  anger. 

"Yes.  He  said  there  had  been  such  a  bad 
quarrel  between  you  he  feared  it  could  not  be 
made  up;  but  he  asked  me  to  meet  him  in 
town — in  a  picture-gallery — and  I  did.  Don't 
be  angry,  Tom.  He  wanted  to  let  me  off  from 
our  engagement;  indeed  he  did;  but  I  saw  he 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

was  in  great  trouble,  and  so  told  him  I  would 
never  give  him  up  so  long  as  my  love  was  worth 
anything  to  him ;  that  he  needn't  write — I  should 
understand.  After  this  he  began  coming  down 
to  town  to  walk  with  me,  which  took  place  sev- 
eral times — I  couldn't  refuse  him  that  comfort, 
Tom." 

"Comfort!  He  was  laughing  in  his  sleeve, 
the  infernal  scoundrel,  that  he  was  so  outwitting 
me!  And  I  at  that  very  time  was  holding  him 
up  like  a  rock,  to  save  him  from  utter  ruin 
before  the  world!  But  go  on;  for  Heaven's 
sake,  tell  me  all!" 

"That  is  all,  Tom.  He  sent  me  a  clipping 
about  his  essay,  and  I  was  proud.  Then  he 
came  once  again,  in  June,  to  tell  me  he  was 
going  to  sail  with  Billy  Innis  around  the  world — 
and  from  that  day  to  this  I  have  never  heard 
from  him. "  Her  head  dropped  forward  forlornly 
upon  her  breast.  Large  tears  flooded  her  blue 
eyes  and  streamed  down  her  childish  face. 
Tom's  tender  heart  smote  him  for  having  so 
increased  her  grief. 

"My  dear, "  he  said,  gently,  "I  would  give  any- 
thing on  earth  if  you  had  confided  in  me  before. 
In  my  desire  to  shelter  a  false  and  contemptible 
fellow  I  have  let  you  run  into  a  trouble  that 
makes  my  blood  boil  to  think  of  it.  Now  listen, 
'3 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

Eunice,  and  believe  I  speak  plain  truth.  Not 
only  did  Ash  Carmichael  throw  me  overboard  the 
minute  our  father  lost  his  money,  but  last  Feb- 
ruary he  was  guilty  of  a  transaction  involving 
me  that  might  have  landed  him  in  state's  prison 
if  I  had  not  consented  to  hush  it  up.  Judge, 
then,  if  he  is  likely  to  present  himself  before  you 
again.  No,  Eunice,  he  will  never  come  back. 
He  was  a  coward,  a  cad,  a  sneak,  to  gratify  him- 
self at  your  expense  in  that  way;  and  my  heart 
aches  for  you,  dear.  But  now  that  you  know 
him  as  he  is  you  will  never  care  for  him  again. 
Think  how  much  worse  suffering  was  his  sister's, 
to  whom  he  wrote  confessing  all,  when  he  was 
in  abject  fear  that  I'd  expose  him.  He  had  the 
cunning  to  make  her  come  East  to  beg  for  him. 
For,  at  the  first  sight  of  that  brave,  tortured  girl 
I  was  disarmed  of  my  thoughts  of  punishment 
for  him.  For  her  sake,  not  his,  I  and  two  or 
three  other  men  he  had  involved  in  the  affair 
resolved  to  let  him  go  and  never  to  speak  of  it. 
Except  to  you,  now,  the  matter  has  not  passed 
my  lips.  And  you  best  know  why  I  have  broken 
our  vow  of  secrecy." 

Again  Eunice  hung  her  head.  The  crimson  of 
deep  shame  deepened  upon  her  face.  For  a 
time  her  voice  was  stifled  by  the  sobs  that  shook 
her  frame. 

H 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

"Don't  cry,  little  sister,"  Tom  went  on,  dis- 
tressfully. "You  make  me  feel  like  an  ogre  or 
an  executioner.  But  in  this  case  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  being  merciful;  I  had  to  tell  you 
to  cure  you,  Eunice.  Heaven  knows  the  task 
was  not  to  my  taste.  Some  day,  if  the  oppor- 
tunity ever  comes  in  your  way,  I  should  like  you 
to  say  a  kind  word  or  do  a  kind  act  to  that  girl. 
She  is  a  perfect  heroine;  and,  if  she  did  not  fancy 
herself  under  such  tremendous  obligations  to  me 
already,  I'd  like  to  look  Alice  Carmichael  up  and 
try  to  help  her." 

"You  are  bigger  and  more  generous  than  I 
am,  Tom,"  cried  Eunice,  between  gasps  of  pain. 
"As  I  feel  now,  I  pray  God  never  to  let  me  look 
upon  one  of  their  blood  again!" 

Four  or  five  years  later  saw  Mr.  Ashton  Car- 
michael a  conqueror  in  the  lists  of  New  York's 
smart  society.  Among  all  the  portals  that  flew 
open  at  his  magic  touch  there  was  one  that 
remained  obstinately  closed.  This  was  the  very 
fine  front  door  belonging  to  the  new  mansion  up 
town  in  which  Arden  Farnsworth  had,  two  years 
after  her  refusal  to  marry  him,  installed  his 
bride,  recently  Miss  Eunice  Oliver. 

For  Eunice,  expanding  into  rare  beauty  during 
her  exile  from  the  gay  world,  had  come  back  to 
15 


THE    CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

take  her  place  as  a  power  in  its  councils,  with  a 
new  understanding  of  people  and  things.  Her 
grave  husband  was  valued  for  his  truth  and  loy- 
alty and  virile  force,  immeasurably  beyond  what 
her  earlier  love  had  been  for  his  youthful  graces 
of  exterior.  With  all  her  heart  she  loved  and 
was  grateful  to  Farnsworth  for  "waiting  till  she 
came  to  her  senses,"  as  she  often  laughingly  told 
him.  Long,  long  ago  the  sting  of  Carmichael's 
treatment  had  ceased  to  pain  her.  Her  fancy 
for  him,  in  truth,  expired  that  day  when  poor, 
blundering  Tom  had  revealed  her  lover's  treach- 
ery. 

With  the  marriage  of  Eunice  the  pressure  of 
adverse  circumstances  had  been  lifted  from  the 
Olivers.  A  former  admirer  of  Miss  Chatty's,  a 
Mr.  Ringstead,  first  discouraged  by  her  mamma 
because  she  did  not  want  her  daughter  to  remove 
to  Philadelphia,  had  gallantly  come  forward  and 
offered  himself  anew.  Mrs.  Oliver,  clearing  her 
throat,  suavely  remarked  to  Chatty  that  she  had 
always  considered  Ringstead  a  most  excellent 
young  man.  To  which  Chatty  pertly  replied 
that  his  excellence  was  secondary  to  the  fact 
that  he  was  going  to  take  her  out  of  that  hole  of 
a  provincial  town  where  Tom  had  buried  them 
alive.  Mrs.  Oliver,  after  the  second  nuptials  in 
her  family,  gave  it  out  that  she  meant  to  divide 
16 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

her  time  between  her  two  married  daughters  and 
"dear  Tom,"  whenever  he  could  be  persuaded  to 
settle  in  a  decent  place;  and  a  short  time  after 
went  abroad,  to  the  relief  of  all  concerned. 

Tom,  during  most  of  these  early  years  a  bird 
of  passage  between  different  headquarters  of  the 
railway  that  had  annexed  his  services,  was  rarely 
in  New  York.  When  occasionally  he  had  fallen 
in  with  some  of  his  old  college-mates  they  had 
dined  and  talked  together  till  well  into  next 
morning,  and  word  was  passed  along  the  line  of 
alumni  of  their  year  to  this  effect:  "Tom  is  all 
there,  every  inch  of  him";  "The  same  glorious 
old  fellow";  "True  as  steel";  "Deserves  his 
luck  in  business";  and  the  like. 

But  except  for  these  banquets  of  good-fellow- 
ship, Tom  had  almost  dropped  out  of  conven- 
tional society,  until  Eunice  Farnsworth  at  last 
coaxed  him  to  make  her  a  little  visit  and  take  a 
peep  into  the  world  that  he  had  eschewed.  It 
would  do  him  good,  she  urged,  to  see  some  of 
the  pretty  girls  and  lively  matrons  who  would 
be  present  at,  for  instance,  a  dinner  to  be  given 
by  Mr.  Farnsworth's  cousin,  Mrs.  Ellison,  in 
honor  of  her  daughter's  coming  out.  Mrs.  Elli- 
son, rather  a  foolish  woman  Eunice  must  admit, 
would  be  charmed  to  extend  an  invitation  to  him 
at  their  request.  It  was  to  be  a  large  affair  of 
'7 


THE    CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

thirty  guests,  and  Eunice  wanted  people  to  see 
her  big  handsome  brother.  "For  you  are  the 
pride  of  my  heart,  Tom;  and  I  don't  care  who 
knows  it,"  she  added,  so  genuinely  that  Tom 
was  brought  into  prompt  submission  to  her  will, 
and  promised  cooperation  in  her  schemes. 

"Young  lady  from  the  Epoch  waiting  to  see 
you,  sir,"  said  the  servant  at  Carmichael's  lodg- 
ings, encountering  him  in  the  hallway  of  that 
domicile,  as  he  let  himself  in  by  a  pass-key  late 
one  afternoon  after  a  round  of  calls. 

Carmichael  was  the  picture  of  self-satisfied 
complacency.  In  attire,  in  bearing,  he  knew 
himself  to  be  above  criticism  by  the  well 
informed;  and  yet  his  vanity  did  not  disdain  the 
looks  of  heartfelt  admiration  cast  upon  him  by 
the  hand-maidens  to  whom  his  landlady  paid 
small  wages  for  the  promiscuous  service  of  her 
house. 

"Another  reporter!"  he  exclaimed,  petulantly. 
"Did  I  not  tell  you  never  to  let  them  wait  for 
me?" 

"She's  in  there,  sir,  not  in  your  sittin'-room," 
went  on  the  girl,  pointing  to  the  closed  door  of 
the  boarding-house  parlor.  "She  said  it  was 
very  important,  Mr.  Carmichael." 

Smiling  at  the  awe-struck  expression  of  the 
18 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

domestic,  whose  class  can  never  rid  itself  of 
respect  for  private  individuals  "wanted"  by  the 
press,  he  opened  the  door  of  a  long,  narrow 
apartment  with  abundant  cheap  draperies, 
spindle-work  furniture,  and  artificial  palms,  to 
find  himself  confronted  by  an  unwelcome  appari- 
tion. 

"You!"  he  said,  in  a  tone  from  which  all  self- 
.complacency  had  fled. 

"Yes,  I.  I  was  assigned  to  you,  and  I  had  to 
come.  Until  now  I  have  been  fortunate  in 
avoiding  such  a  contingency." 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  in  New  York,"  he 
stammered,  to  gain  time. 

"I  got  this  appointment  on  the  Epoch  last  sea- 
son, through  a  friend.  But  I  came  here  first  in 
summer,  when  you  were  cruising  on  Mr.  Comp- 
ton's  yacht.  You  see  it  is  not  difficult  for  me  to 
keep  account  of  your  movements,  you  are  such 
a  great  man  now;  and  besides,  the  others  tell  me 
you  are  very  good  in  giving  them  items  about 
your  plans." 

Carmichael  colored.  He  could  not  believe 
that  the  cool,  satiric,  self-reliant  speaker  was 
the  orphaned  sister  who  for  years  had  made  him 
the  god  of  her  idolatry. 

"You  are  looking  well,"  he  said;  "your  pro- 
fession seems  to  agree  with  you.  I  hope  you 
19 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

have  comfortable  quarters.  And  if  there  is  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you  now,  perhaps  you  will  tell 
me  as  soon  as  may  be,  since  I  am  engaged  for 
dinner  and  have  some  letters  to  write  before 
dressing." 

"They  sent  me  to  ask  you  the  correct  date  of 
the  Bachelor's  Ball,  and  any  items  about  the 
affair  you  may  wish  to  publish,"  she  answered, 
fixing  upon  his  evasive  eyes  a  pair  of  clear, 
bright  orbs. 

"That  is  easily  done,"  he  replied,  with  an  air 
of  relief.  "Or  stop;  leave  me  your  address,  and 
I  will  send  you  the  full  data  to-morrow  after 
the  committee  meets." 

"Send  it  to  me  at  the  office,  please.  But  now 
that  our  business  is  so  satisfactorily  disposed  of 
there  is  another  little  matter  about  which  I 
should  like  to  speak  to  you  in  a  more  private 
place." 

"But  I  am  pressed  for  time,  I  tell  you!"  he 
exclaimed,  uneasily. 

"It  is  something  in  the  nature  of  a  warning," 
she  said,  with  a  mocking  intonation.  "But  just 
as  you  choose,  of  course." 

"Come  to  my  sitting-room  on  the  floor  above, 
then,"  he  responded,  ungraciously,  leading  the 
way  up  the  stairs. 

The  room  into  which  he  ushered  her  was  a 

20 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

curious  combination  of  elemental  homeliness  and 
the  little  belongings  of  advanced  luxury,  which 
littered  it  from  wall  to  wall.  Alice  Carmichael's 
quick  eye  did  not  fail  to  discern  this  discrepancy, 
which  she  set  down  at  once  to  her  brother's 
habitual  unwillingness  to  enjoy  anything  that 
was  not  a  gift  from  some  one  who  could  afford 
to  pay  the  piper.  But  despite  her  calm  bear- 
ing, her  heart  was  torn  at  sight  of  him.  A 
thousand  recollections,  tender  and  poignant, 
arose  to  overwhelm  her.  To  Ashton's  infinite 
relief,  however,  she  continued  to  sit  as  unbend- 
ing as  marble  upon  the  edge  of  the  cane-bot- 
tomed chair  he  had  offered  her.  He  knew  well 
enough  that  after  the  first  drop  into  sentiment 
she  would  soon  be  herself  again. 

"I  have  always  regarded  it  as  a  particular 
piece  of  good  fortune,"  she  began,  presently, 
"that  so  far  as  I  have  followed  your  fashionable 
career  fate  has  not  brought  you  into  contact  with 
any  of  the  Olivers.  When  Mrs.  Farnsworth 
returned  here  to  live  it  must  have  been  a  consid- 
erable embarrassment  to  you  to  know  how  to 
avoid  meeting  her.  But  that,  I  suppose,  might 
have  been  left  to  her  woman's  tact  to  dispose  of. 
I  am  quite  sure  that  neither  she  nor  any  one 
of  her  family  would  ever  voluntarily  come  to 
look  you  in  the  face." 

21 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

Her  victim  winced,  and  she  saw  that  he  felt 
the  sting  implied. 

"Just  now,  with  the  omniscience  of  my  frater- 
nity, I  am  in  a  position  to  know  the  list  of  guests 
expected  at  Mrs.  Ellison's  dinner  for  her  de"bu- 
tante  daughter  to-night.  Not  only  are  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Arden  Farnsworth  to  be  there,  but  Mr. 
Thomas  Oliver  himself,  who  is  in  town  stopping 
with  his  sister  for  a  few  days." 

"The  devil  he  is!"  cried  Carmichael,  much 
perturbed. 

"You  can  hardly  have  expected  to  go  on  for- 
ever escaping  the  sword  of  Damocles.  Though, 
as  you  know,  you  are  perfectly  safe  from  Mr. 
Oliver  and  the  Farnsworths,  too;  indeed,  I 
don't  believe  they  would  turn  on  their  heels  to 
look  a  second  time  if  they  saw  you  lying  in  the 
gutter.  But  I  have  a  feeling  for  them — a  feeling 
that  I  can't  ask  you  to  understand  —  which 
makes  me  wish  to  spare  them  the  annoyance  of 
your  presence.  It  will  be  the  first  time  in  years 
that  Mr.  Oliver  has  appeared  in  the  society  of 
his  old  friends.  He  has  had  a  life  of  work  and 
care  beyond  his  deserts.  I  should  like  to  think 
that  this  one  evening's  enjoyment  is  not  to  be 
spoiled  for  him." 

"I  believe  you  are  in  love  with  that mono- 
lith!" said  her  brother,  with  an  oath. 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

Miss  Carmichael  looked  at  him  with  undis- 
turbed equanimity. 

"What  Mr.  Oliver  did  for  me  in  my  hour  of 
greatest  need  would  entitle  him  to  the  best  my 
heart  could  give.  But  you  forget,  I  think,  that 
this  and  other  experiences  have  made  of  me  a 
machine,  not  a  woman.  No  need,  however,  to 
tell  you  what  he  did  for  me,  or  what  I  am.  Will 
you  stay  away  from  the  Ellisons'  dinner,  or  will 
you  not?" 

"I  shall  go,"  said  Carmichael,  stubbornly. 
"I  am  to  take  in  Miss  Ellison,  and  to  lead  their 
cotillon  afterward.  I  could  not  be  guilty  of  such 
a  departure  from  good  form  as  to  throw  over  the 
Ellisons  because  this  assorted  lot  of  paragons  of 
yours  are  going  to  be  there.  Among  thirty  peo- 
ple it  is  hardly  likely  I  shall  run  counter  to 
them.  And  should  I  do  so,  I  fancy  my  position 
is  assured  beyond  any  attempt  at  a  slight  they 
could  put  upon  me.  My  dear  girl,  your  attitude 
in  all  this  is  in  the  last  degree  strained  and 
goody-goody.  Leave  me  to  paddle  my  own 
canoe,  as  I  have  left  you.  We  shall  continue  to 
do  without  each  other,  I  do  not  doubt.  No  man 
alive  could  endure  to  have  a  Lady  Macbeth  kind 
of  female  arise  and  stalk  about  him  indulging  in 
remorseful  soliloquies  about  his  past.  I  am 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

sorry  that  the  only  visit  you  have  done  me  the 
honor  to  make  me  should  have  been  devoted  to 
such  a  ridiculous  and  futile  enterprise.  And  you 
will  permit  me  to  suggest  once  more  that  I  am 
really  very  much  afraid  you  are  indulging  in  a 
schoolgirl  passion  for  your  hero,  the  doughty 
and  horny-handed  Tom." 

"Good  evening,"  said  the  reporter,  briskly. 
"You  won't  forget  to  send  that  stuff  about  'The 
Bachelor's'  to  me  not  later  than  to-morrow?" 

She  was  up  and  off  before  he  could  intercept 
her.  The  little  servant-maid  in  the  pink  cotton 
frock,  with  cap  askew,  was  hovering  outside  his 
door  as  Miss  Carmichael  went  out  of  it. 

"Ain't  he  beautiful?"  she  said,  with  frank 
pride.  "I  s'pose  you'll  put  another  one  o'  them 
pieces  a-praisin'  him  into  your  paper?  There's 
lots  of  the  newspaper  folks  come  here  to  see 
him;  and  no  wonder — an'  him  keepin'  company 
with  all  the  high  'ristocrats  o'  the  city." 

A  moment  more  and  Alice  was  upon  the  street 
mingling  with  the  throng  of  workers  like  herself. 
Although  well  in  check  about  matters  of  mere 
sentiment,  for  which  there  was  no  longer  time  in 
her  hurried  existence,  her  thoughts  had  filled 
with  a  vision  of  two  children  at  their  mother's 
knee,  who  shared  everything  in  common  until 


THE    CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

time  and  the  mother's  death  and  subsequent 
hard  circumstances  had  forced  them  apart  for- 
ever. Ah,  well!  she  did  not  begrudge  Ashton 
anything  she  had  done  for  him.  But  she  was 
glad  their  mother  had  not  lived. 


II 

"It  was  so  good  of  you  to  come  early,"  mur- 
mured Carmichael's  hostess  to  him,  when  her 
guests  for  the  dinner  were  beginning  to  drop  in. 
"Now  that  you  are  here  I  feel  a  great  weight  off 
my  mind.  This  kind  of  thing  is  rather  a  tax 
when  there  is  no  man  at  the  head  of  the  house, 
don't  you  think  so?  Please  manage  to  slip  off 
and  look  into  the  dining-room  to  see  if  the  lights 
and  ventilation  are  all  right.  I  arranged  the 
cards  myself,  so  I  know  that  is  as  it  should  be. 
You  take  in  Gertrude,  and  on  your  other  side  I 
have  put  the  very  prettiest  young  matron  of  my 
acquaintance — Mrs.  Arden  Farnsworth,  who 
married  my  cousin,  don't  you  know?  I  knew 
your  fastidious  taste  would  be  pleased  by  her, 
and  it  would  be  a  sort  of  reward  for  your  leading 
our  cotillon  afterward.  Here  comes  another 
raft  of  people.  Do  look  at  the  table,  won't  you, 
and  tell  my  butler  if  you  want  any  changes 
made?" 

Carmichael  was  accustomed  to  be  deputy  sov- 
ereign in  many  fine  houses.  But  he  had  never 
felt  as  grateful  for  the  privilege  as  now.  His 
26 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

plan  was  executed  quickly.  So  eager  was  he  to 
effect  a  transfer  of  the  cards  of  Eunice  and  her 
companion  away  over  to  the  other  side  of  the 
broad  oval  of  damask  bedecked  with  pallid 
orchids  in  silver  vases,  silver  flagons,  and  platters 
of  hothouse  grapes,  he  did  not  think  to  notice 
for  whom  was  reserved  the  place  next  Miss 
Ellison,  whom  he  was  to  take  in. 

"What  an  escape!"  he  murmured  inwardly, 
when  Mrs.  Farnsworth's  cards  were  safely 
exchanged  for  two  others,  taken  at  hazard  from 
the  opposite  side.  "Our  good  hostess  will  think 
it  was  her  own  carelessness,  but  I  am  safe.  I 
wish  I  had  dared  face  the  music,  and  sit  next  to 
my  late  betrothed.  There  isn't  a  woman  of  the 
year  that  compares  with  her,  and  I'd  like  to 
force  her  to  notice  me  again.  However,  all 
comes  to  him  who  knows  how  to  wait,  and  Eunice 
may  once  again  be  made  to  thrill  at  my  words 
of—" 

He  started  guiltily;  but  it  was  only  Mrs.  Elli- 
son's sleek  butler  asking  at  his  elbow  if  all  was 
to  the  dictator's  fancy. 

"Very  good,  Masters,  though  I  see  you  have 
taken  on  a  little  red-headed  cub  of  a  waiter  who 
spilled  champagne  down  my  neck  at  the  last 
Assembly  supper.  If  I  were  you  I  wouldn't  have 
the  little  brute  at  any  price." 
27 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

"Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Carmichael,  the  man  shall 
not  be  engaged  here  again,"  said  Masters,  in 
deep  humility.  And  Ashton,  having  partially 
settled  his  score  with  a  poor  menial  who  had 
had  the  temerity  to  smile  when  he  was  laying 
down  the  law  about  the  terrapin  at  a  subscrip- 
tion ball,  returned  to  the  drawing-room. 

It  was  quite  filled  up  now  with  guests  who  had 
come  in — the  women  complacent  in  gorgeous 
gowns,  the  men  lagging,  beginning  to  be  bored, 
eager  for  food,  and  inclined  to  take  pessimistic 
views  of  life  by  and  large.  They  were  waiting 
for  some  one,  it  appeared;  and  presently,  as  the 
door  was  thrown  open,  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Farns- 
worth  and  Mr.  Oliver"  were  heralded. 

Eunice,  hurrying  forward  to  explain  to  the 
hostess  that  one  of  their  horses  had  slipped  and 
fallen  upon  the  asphalt,  was  royal  in  her  young 
beauty.  In  her  robes  of  shimmering  rose  color, 
her  head,  neck,  and  bodice  coruscating  with  jew- 
els, she  stirred  Carmichael's  selfish  heart  as 
nothing  in  woman's  shape  had  done  before.  He 
had  to  turn  away  to  avoid  showing  his  emotion. 

"Don't  stare  after  Mrs.  Farnsworth  and  for- 
get you've  got  to  take  me  in,"  said,  in  his  ear, 
the  piqued  voice  of  Miss  Gertrude  Ellison.  "I 
declare,  she  has  just  bewitched  all  the  men. 
I  wish  mamma  hadn't  thought  it  necessary  to 
28 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

put  her  next  to  you.  At  this  rate  I  shan't  get 
the  least  notice  taken  of  me.  Luckily,  I've  got 
on  my  other  hand  her  brother,  Tom  Oliver,  who 
is  as  much  a  beauty  as  she  is,  in  his  way." 

Carmichael  could  not  repress  a  movement  of 
tremor.  At  that  moment  he  saw  going  in  ahead 
of  them  Oliver,  who  had  been  his  dearest  friend, 
his  most  loyal  benefactor,  whom  he  had  be- 
trayed. And  for  an  hour  and  a  half  he  was  to 
sit  so  near  him  that  their  glances  could  not  fail 
to  meet.  He  wished  now  he  had  taken  the 
advice  of  his  sister,  and  stayed  at  home. 

"Dear  me!"  exclaimed  little  Miss  Ellison, 
coming  to  a  halt  behind  their  places.  "It's  Mrs. 
Dick  Anstey  who's  next  to  you,  after  all.  I  sup- 
pose mamma  changed  her  mind  about  Mrs. 
Farnsworth. " 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Carmichael,  stooping 
mechanically  to  tuck  in  a  corner  of  Mrs.  Anstey's 
apple-green  velvet  skirt,  as  that  lady  took  her 
chair,  having  permitted  a  servant  to  advance  it 
toward  her  and  the  table.  "That  gown  of  yours 
should  be  treasured,  Mrs.  Anstey,"  he  added. 
"It  is  the  most  charming  you  have  worn  this  sea- 
son, and  that  is  saying  much." 

Mrs.  Anstey,  who  lived  to  dress,  fluttered  with 
excitement  at  this  compliment.  It  was  unlocked 
for  from  Carmichael,  who,  until  now,  had  snubbed 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

her  unmercifully  wherever  they  had  met.  He 
followed  it  up  by  devoting  himself  to  her  so 
exclusively  that  three  courses  of  the  dinner  had 
passed  before  he  gave  heed  to  the  heroine  of 
the  feast. 

"You  are  civil,"  said  Gertrude,  finally.  "I 
don't  care,  though;  I  have  been  well  taken  care 
of.  Do  you  know  Mr.  Carmichael,  Mr.  Oliver?" 
she  went  on,  with  a  coquettish  glance  back  at 
her  right-hand  neighbor,  to  include  the  two. 

"I  know  Mr.  Carmichael,"  was  the  answer. 
Full  upon  his  false  friend's  countenance  flashed 
Tom's  gaze  of  scorn.  Little  Miss  Ellison,  whose 
attention  was  distracted  by  some  one  opposite, 
did  not  observe  this  by-play.  Carmichael  was 
enraged  at  himself  for  dropping  his  eyes  upon 
his  plate.  When  he  gained  courage  to  lift  them, 
Tom  had  entered  into  close  conversation  with 
Miss  Cowper,  who  for  some  moments  had  been 
awaiting  attention  on  his  other  side. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?  You  look 
quite  pale  and  rattled,"  went  on  Miss  Ellison, 
who  had  a  talent  for  attack.  "One  would  think 
you  had  seen  a  ghost.  See,  there  is  Mrs.  Farns- 
worth  looking  this  way,  to  make  sure  I  am 
taking  good  care  of  her  big  brother,  I  suppose. 
Let  us  both  nod  to  her  and  she'll  know — 
Goodness!  What  has  she  got  against  you,  Mr. 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

Carmichael?  I  never  in  all  my  days  saw  such  a 
full-fledged  specimen  of  the  cut  direct!" 

Nor  had  Carmichael,  in  a  much  wider  experi- 
ence. His  ears  tingled,  his  heart  beat  with 
angry  resentment.  By  not  the  quiver  of  an 
eyelash  had  Eunice  betrayed  emotion  at  sight  of 
him,  face  to  face.  If  he  had  been  the  footman, 
just  then  engaged  in  projecting  a  silver  dish 
between  her  arm  and  her  neighbor's,  she  could 
not  more  utterly  have  ignored  his  claim  to  her 
acquaintance. 

"Evidently  it's  just  as  well  Mrs.  Farnsworth 
did  not  sit  next  to  you,"  pursued  Gertrude,  at 
an  age  to  look  for  little  beyond  externals.  "I 
did  not  expect  ever  to  see  the  great  Mr.  Car- 
michael come  such  a  nasty  cropper.  She  must 
be  the  only  one  of  the  'crowned  heads'  who 
doesn't  smile  on  you.  But  I  must  say  she's  the 
freshest  and  prettiest  of  the  lot.  When  I  get 
to  be  as  old  as  some  women  I  know,  I'm  going  to 
stop  playing  kitten  and  settle  down  to  be  plain 
cat.  Eunice  Farnsworth's  jewels  are  simply 
wonderful.  Not  as  showy  as  some,  but  very 
fine.  Mamma  says  our  Cousin  Arden  has  always 
had  the  most  perfect  taste  in  precious  stones. 
The  only  time  mamma  ever  got  ahead  of  him  in 
a  purchase  was  in  the  Carcellini  emerald,  a  relic 
from  an  old  cardinal's  sale,  I  think.  It  was 
3' 


THE    CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

offered-  in  Paris  when  papa  and  mamma  were 
there — oh,  long  ago,  when  I  was  a  little  kid. 
Cousin  Arden's  order  by  cable,  to  buy  it,  came 
to  the  dealer  just  after  papa  had  drawn  a  check 
in  payment.  Don't  know  the  Carcellini  emer- 
ald? Why,  it's  famous  everywhere.  The  only 
thing  approaching  it  in  beauty  and  value  belongs 
to  one  of  the  Russian  Grand  Duchesses.  Mamma 
generally  wears  it  at  dinner,  and  I  dare  say 
she  has  it  on  now.  If  you  have  really  never 
seen  it,  I'll  ask  her  to  send  the  ring  down  for  us 
to  look  at." 

"Do  you  think  she  will  trust  us?"  asked  Mrs. 
Anstey,  who  had  turned  to  catch  the  latter  part 
of  Gertrude's  chatter.  "I  have  always  been 
dying  to  have  a  good  look  at  the  Carcellini 
emerald." 

"Trust  us?  Of  course.  She  often  sends  it 
around  the  table  for  her  friends  to  handle.  Now 
watch  me  telegraph  her,  and  see  if  she  doesn't 
understand." 

Leaning  forward,  the  young  lady  managed  to 
convey  to  her  mother  the  request.  Shaking  her 
finger  at  the  suppliant,  yet  amiably  acquiescent, 
Mrs.  Ellison  drew  from  her  left  hand  an  object, 
which,  amid  flattering  enthusiasm  from  her 
guests,  began  its  journey  around  the  table.  Lit- 
tle cries  of  delight  from  the  women,  more 
32 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

restrained  expressions  of  admiration  from  the 
men,  followed  the  beautiful  well  of  green  fire  in 
its  progress. 

"Now  look!"  said  Mrs.  Anstey,  when  it  came 
to  her.  Slipping  the  ring  upon  her  hand — a 
pretty  hand,  we  may  be  sure — where  it  sent  into 
prompt  eclipse  all  the  rest  of  her  outfit  of  jew- 
els, she  held  it  up  for  Carmichael  to  view. 
"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  beauty?"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I  declare  I  shall  go  home  and  never 
sleep  a  wink  to-night  for  coveting  it!  Such 
color,  such  luster,  and  such  size!  It  ought  to  be 
on  the  turban  of  a  Grand  Mogul." 

Carmichael  said  nothing,  but  he  stirred  uneas- 
ily upon  his  chair.  The  childish  raptures  of  the 
speaker  seemed  to  him  like  the  crackling  of 
thorns  under  the  pot. 

"There,  Gertrude,  take  the  tempter!"  con- 
cluded Mrs.  Anstey,  plucking  the  ring  from  her 
hand  and  extending  it  with  affected  resignation. 

"I  tell  mamma  I  will  accept  nothing  less  than 
this  for  my  wedding  present,"  answered  Ger- 
trude, receiving  it  in  her  outstretched  palm. 
"But  so  far  I  can't  get  her  to  promise  it  to  me. 
She  says  it  must  go  by  will  to  my  eldest  brother, 
a  boy  at  school,  who  doesn't  know  the  difference 
between  an  emerald  and  a  bit  of  glass,  the 
wretch!  Look,  Mr.  Carmichael  and  Mr.  Oliver; 
33 


THE    CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

I  will  show  you  something  nobody  else  at  the 
table  has  seen.  The  prettiest  thing  about 
the  Carcellini  is  the  way  it  answers  to  a  shaft  of 
light.  It  leaps  up  like  a  fountain  and  fairly  bub- 
bles radiance.  See!  I  will  lean  over  and  hold  it 
between  my  thumb  and  finger  sidewise  under 
this  candle  nearest  us,  and  you  can  get  the 
effect." 

As  she  did  so  Carmichael's  eyes  glittered  and 
his  breath  came  quick.  A  moment  later  a  shiver 
of  alarm  and  excitement  ran  around  their  quar- 
ter of  the  table.  In  inclining  her  head  to  catch 
the  best  light  from  the  candle  Gertrude  Ellison 
had  set  fire  to  the  fanciful  aigrette  of  twisted 
tulle  that  soared  high  from  her  hair  behind. 
The  young  men  on  either  side  of  her  sprang  upon 
their  feet.  It  was  Oliver  who,  seizing  the  now 
blazing  ornament,  plucked  it  easily  from  the 
girl's  mass  of  fluffy  hair  and  crushed  out  the 
flames  between  his  strong  brown  fingers. 

"It  is  all  over ;  I  was  not  even  singed,  mamma, 
thanks  to  Mr.  Oliver,"  called  out  Gertrude  to 
her  mother,  who  had  just  perceived  the  commo- 
tion. At  once  the  inexorable  law  of  conven- 
tional society  closed  upon  the  little  incident. 
People  resumed  their  interrupted  chat,  the  ser- 
vants circled  the  board  as  before,  everybody  had 
some  anecdote  to  relate  about  a  narrow  escape 
34 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

from  burning  that  had  come  under  his  experi- 
ence. 

And  then,  amid  the  murmur  of  voices,  the 
tinkle  of  glasses,  the  strains  from  an  orchestra 
that  had  begun  to  play  a  waltz  upon  the  upper 
landing  of  the  stairs,  Gertrude  Ellison  turned 
upon  Carmichael  a  perfectly  blanched  face. 

"Don't  give  any  sign,"  she  whispered,  "but 
tell  me  what  I  am  to  do.  I  have  lost  the  Car- 
cellini  emerald." 

Carmichael  darted  one  swift  glance  toward 
Tom  Oliver,  like  the  tongue  of  a  toad  flashing 
out  to  catch  a  fly  and  withdrawing  with  its  mor- 
sel. 

"He  knows  nothing,"  she  went  on,  petulantly. 
"He  has  been  listening  all  this  time  to  an  inter- 
minable story  Annie  Cowper  has  been  telling 
him.  Who  cares  about  her  great-grandaunt's 
feathers  catching  fire  from  the  chandelier  at  a 
Colonial  ball?  I  suppose  the  ring  slipped  off 
down  the  satin  of  my  skirt,  and  has  rolled  under 
the  table.  I  can't  make  a  fuss  now,  but  I  won't 
leave  this  spot  while  another  oerson  remains  in 
the  room  after  me." 

"You  are  quite  right  to  keep  the  thing  quiet," 
he  said,  with  consoling  deliberation.  "In  a  lit- 
tle while  your  mother  will  be  leaving  the  table. 
You  and  I  can  hang  back  and  intercept  her  after 
35 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

every  one  has  gone,  unless  you  prefer  to  look 
first  and  tell  her  afterward." 

"Oh,  no;  I  dare  not!  I  must  tell  her  at 
once!" 

"Very  well,  then;  I  will  help  you.  If  I  stay 
behind  while  the  other  men  go  up  to  the  smok- 
ing-room it  will  be  thought  I  have  matters  to 
discuss  with  Mrs.  Ellison  about  the  cotillon." 

As  the  company  arose  from  table,  catching 
the  eye  of  Masters,  the  butler,  he  bade  the  men 
remain  behind  their  chairs,  and  let  no  one  ap- 
proach the  spot.  He  and  Gertrude  then  has- 
tened to  intercept  Mrs.  Ellison  at  the  end  of  the 
long  procession,  and  make  known  to  her  the 
loss. 

"I  always  told  you,  child,  what  would  happen 
if  you  persisted  in  putting  on  a  ring  too  large 
for  you,"  she  said,  agitated,  but  (to  do  her  jus- 
tice) courageous  in  calamity.  "In  that  flurry 
about  the  fire  you  must  have  let  it  slip  to  the 
floor,  and  being  unused  to  wearing  it  you  didn't 
at  first  notice  its  absence.  Let  this  be  a  lesson 
to  you,  Gertrude,  though  I  am  sure  you  will  find 
the  ring,  with  Mr.  Carmichael's  kind  aid.  I 
will  make  excuses  for  you.  People  will  under- 
stand your  wanting  to  rearrange  your  hair.  Mr. 
Carmichael,  I  trust  everything  to  you;  and  I 
shall  go  on  and  receive  the  people  who  have 
36 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

already  begun  to  come  for  the  cotillon.  Tell 
Masters  to  shut  all  the  doors,  and  let  not  a  soul 
cross  the  threshold  of  the  dining-room  until  you 
give  him  leave." 

There  are  heroines  in  all  walks  of  life,  and 
Mrs.  Ellison,  going  forth  to  receive  a  set  of  gay 
people,  consumed  by  gnawing  anxiety  to  see  the 
Carcellini  emerald  safely  upon  her  finger,  must 
be  numbered  high  up  among  them. 

"My  dear  Arden, "  she  said  later  on,  capturing 
her  cousin  as  he  appeared  in  the  doorway,  com- 
ing down  from  the  smoking-room,  "I  am  so 
thankful  you  have  come.  Your  wife  has  gone 
home.  She  bade  me  tell  you  she  did  not  feel 
equal  to  the  cotillon,  but  that  she  wanted  you 
to  stop  and  help  me  out.  Her  brother  took  her 
home.  How  nice  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot. 
Your  daughters  are  looking  charming;  I  hope 
they  both  have  partners  for  the  cotillon.  Ger- 
trude will  be  in  directly.  You  know  they  are 
joking  her  about  having  set  her  aigrette  afire  at 
dinner,  but  it  might  have  been  something  worse. 
Arden,  I  really  can't  endure  this  another  minute. 
For  goodness  sake,  go  into  the  dining-room  and 
see  if  Gertrude  and  Mr.  Carmichael  have  found 
the  Carcellini  emerald!" 

"The  Carcellini  emerald!"  repeated  Farns- 
worth,  who,  between  vexation  at  his  wife's 
37 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

unaccountable  departure  and  stupefaction  at  his 
cousin's  speech,  did  not  know  where  to  find  him- 
self. "Is  it  possible  you  intrusted  it  to  Ger- 
trude?" 

"Their  delay  distracts  me.  If  it  had  been 
underneath  the  table,  at  Gertrude's  feet,  where 
it  might  naturally  have  slipped  down  her  satin 
skirt,  they  would  have  returned  by  now." 

"What's  Carmichael  got  to  do  with  it?"  asked 
Farnsworth,  wrathfully.  He,  better  than  any 
other,  appreciated  the  enormous  loss  of  the 
splendid  gem.  "If  I  were  you,  Elizabeth,  I 
would  not  intrust  the  duties  of  a  host  to  a  pre- 
tentious nobody  like  that  fellow.  Of  course  I'll 
go.  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  all  my  life. " 

He  found  the  dining-room  shut,  every  door 
barricaded  by  Carmichael's  orders.  Servants 
and  waiters  were  gathered  curiously  outside.  At 
the  sound  of  Farnsworth's  voice  demanding 
admittance,  Gertrude  threw  open  the  door  and 
ran  to  meet  him,  ghostly  pale  and  trembling  in 
every  limb.  Behind  her,  candles  in  hand,  with 
which  they  had  been  going  over  the  floor,  already 
lighted  in  every  part  by  the.  full  power  of  elec- 
tricity, stood  Masters  and  '  Carmichael.  both 
anxious  and  perturbed. 

"Oh,  Cousin  Arden,  I'm  almost  crazy!"  cried 
the  girl.     "I  can  find  no  trace  of  it." 
38 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

In  broken  words  she  narrated  the  circum- 
stances of  the  ring's  disappearance. 

"I  was  kept  in  here  during  the  search  by  no 
wish  of  mine,  Mr.  Farnsworth,"  said  the  butler, 
respectfully  but  firmly,  when  his  young  lady  had 
ceased  speaking.  "It's  a  hard  thing  on  a  man 
that  has  to  live  on  the  character  he  gets  in  a 
place  to  be  mixed  up  in  an  affair  like  this.  And 
when  you  are  convinced,  as  I  am  sir,  that  the 
ring  is  not  to  be  found  about  this  room,  I  should 
take  it  very  kind  of  you  if  you'd  go  upstairs  with 
me  and  make  a  search  of  my  clothes  without  let- 
ting me  out  of  your  sight." 

"Absurd,  Masters,"  put  in  Carmichael, 
sharply.  "Why,  any  one,  to  look  at  you,  man, 
can  see  you're  as  much  bothered  as  any  one  of  us. 
He  has  been  invaluable,  Mr.  Farnsworth;  no 
one  could  have  done  more  in  our  thorough 
search." 

"You  must  excuse  me  for  not  inviting  your 
opinion,  sir,"  said  Farnsworth,  stiffly,  confront- 
ing the  last  speaker.  "I  think  the  man  is  quite 
right  in  his  request.  Stay  where  you  are,  Mas- 
ters, and  when  I  have  been  over  the  ground 
here,  and  have  satisfied  myself  the  ring  is  miss- 
ing, I  will  go  with  you  to  your  room.  Ger- 
trude, my  dear,  do  you,  too,  go  upstairs  and 
search  every  portion  of  your  clothes.  Don't 
39 


call  a  maid;  we  need  take  nobody  more  than  is 
necessary  into  our  confidence.  I'm  inclined,  as 
it  is,  to  think  the  matter  might  better  have  been 
kept  exclusively  between  the  members  of  the 
family." 

"I  beg  to  be  excused,  Miss  Ellison,"  said 
Carmichael,  hotly.  "Perhaps  you  will  ask  Mrs. 
Ellison  to  tell  Mr.  Farnsworth  that  I  remained 
here  at  her  particular  request,  to  assist  you  in 
your  search.  The  whole  matter  is  abhorrent  to 
me;  but  I  think  no  gentleman  could  have  refused 
to  be  of  service  to  his  hostess  under  the  circum- 
stances. And  if  Mr.  Farnsworth  has  at  any 
time  any  other  remarks  to  make  to  me  upon  this 
subject  I  am  quite  at  his  disposition." 

But  Mr.  Farnsworth  had  apparently  no  desire 
to  hold  further  conversation  of  any  kind  with  his 
cousin's  guest.  Gertrude,  much  overcome, 
thanked  Carmichael,  and  ran  away  to  her  own 
room.  There  was  nothing  for  Carmichael  to  do 
but  to  withdraw  likewise;  but  he  did  not  leave 
the  house,  remaining  to  perform  his  usual  func- 
tions as  a  cotillon  leader,  with  "distinguished 
success,"  as  the  newspapers  said  next  day. 

By  the  time  the  guests  crowded  again  into  the 
Ellison  dining-room  that  night  for  a  buffet  sup- 
per, the  strange  tale  of  the  loss  of  the  famous 
ring  was  upon  everybody's  lips.  How  it  leaked 
4o 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

out  no  one  knew.  When  Carmichael  was  con- 
sulted, he  announced  himself  to  be  in  the  confi- 
dence of  the  family,  and  therefore  preferred  not 
to  speak.  No  one  felt  like  alluding  to  it  before 
the  hostess  or  her  daughter,  who  were  observed 
to  "keep  up"  with  conspicuous  courage. 

When  the  last  carriage  had  driven  away,  the 
two  ladies  went  with  Mr.  Farnsworth  and  a  quiet, 
gentlemanlike-looking  man  in  morning  dress, 
who  appeared  from  the  regions  of  the  men's 
dressing-rooms  upstairs,  into  close  council  in 
Mrs.  Ellison's  boudoir. 

"Try  to  remember,"  said  Mr.  Farnsworth, 
kindly,  to  Gertrude,  who  had  begun  to  look 
drawn  and  haggard  at  the  end  of  a  lengthy  dis- 
cussion among  the  four,  upon  which  finger  of 
which  hand  you  had  put  the  ring  when  you  began 
to  show  the  emerald  to  those  gentlemen." 

"Why,"  said  the  girl,  suddenly,  "I  had  never 
put  it  on  at  all!  I  was  holding  it — so — between 
the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  my  right  hand, 
turned  sidewise  to  catch  the  light,  when  I  felt 
the  blazing  up  of  my  aigrette.  Then  Mr.  Oliver 
jumped  up  and  snatched  the  burning  thing  out 
of  my  hair,  and  scorched  his  own  hand  in  doing 
it.  It  was  all  over  very  quickly.  But  I  was  so 
startled,  I  did  not  think  of  the  ring  for  some  min- 
utes; and  when  I  did,  to  my  horror  it  was  gone. " 
4* 


"Were  there  any  servants  behind  or  near  you 
at  the  time,  Miss  Ellison?"  said  the  quiet  man 
in  morning  clothes. 

"I  think  some  of  them  may  have  run  up  to 
offer  help,  but  I  am  not  sure,"  said  Gertrude, 
tears  of  nervous  distress  filling  her  eyes. 

"But  you  are  sure  about  the  position  of  the 
ring  as  you  leaned  forward  beneath  the  candle?" 
went  on  the  same  unemotional  voice. 

"Perfectly,"  said  Gertrude,  with  emphasis. 
"In  that  I  cannot  be  mistaken." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments  in  the 
little  room  with  its  pale  brocades  and  Dresden 
figurines  and  gilded  furniture.  Then  the  quiet 
man  spoke  deliberately,  drumming  with  a  pencil 
upon  the  edge  of  Mrs.  Ellison's  dainty  blotting- 
book. 

"I  have  no  sort  of  doubt,  madam,  that  your 
emerald  was  stolen.  Who  took  it,  and  who  has 
it — whether  we  shall  ever  get  it  back — are  ques- 
tions to  which  I  propose  to  devote  my  best  abil- 
ities. If  it  was  one  of  your  own  servants  or 
employe's  from  outside,  the  appearance  and  char- 
acter of  the  jewel  will  soon  put  us  on  the  track 
of  it.  But  if — "  He  paused,  and  cleared  his 
throat  significantly. 

"I  had  rather  lose  it,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Elli- 
son, tearfully,  "than  suspect  one  of  my  guests." 
42 


THE    CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

"But  you  will  surely  not  refuse  to  oblige  me, 
madam,"  said  the  detective,  with  a  deprecating 
smile,  "with  the  name  and  address  of  the  gen- 
tleman who  sat  on  the  left  hand  of  the  young 
lady  at  the  time?" 

This  was  too  much  for  the  overwrought  mis- 
tress of  the  house,  who  broke  down  in  a  fit  of 
hysterics  that  necessitated  her  prompt  removal 
to  bed  and  the  summons  of  a  doctor,  who  for 
some  days  kept  her  in  the  seclusion  of  her  room, 
then  sent  her  with  her  daughter  out  of  town. 

Although  a  nine-days'  wonder  in  the  conver- 
sations of  society,  the  story  of  the  Carcellini 
emerald  had  not,  by  a  wonder,  reached  the  pub- 
lic prints.  The  absolute  refusal  of  Mrs.  Ellison 
to  proceed  in  the  investigation,  as  far  as  her  own 
friends  were  concerned,  blocked  effectually  the 
roll  of  the  wheels  of  justice  in  the  direction 
of  finding  a  possible  thief.  The  other  servants  of 
her  house,  and  the  hired  waiters  present  on  the 
occasion,  had,  to  all  appearance,  come  out 
unscathed  from  the  ordeal  of  suspicion,  as  well 
as  had  honest  Masters.  The  whole  affair  seemed 
likely  to  remain  among  mysteries  unsolved. 

About  a  fortnight  after  the  disappearance  of 
the  jewel,  a  newspaper  not  averse  to  the  elabora- 
tion of  savory  personalities  concerning  the 
43 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

wealthy  leisure  class  published  a  carefully  veiled 
discussion  of  the  affair  at  Mrs.  Ellison's.  No 
names  were  given,  but  hints  were  made  of  suspi- 
cion attached  in  a  certain  high  quarter,  involving 
a  family  of  character  and  antecedents  hitherto 
beyond  reproach.  There  was  a  light  touch  sug- 
gesting that  gallantry  in  the  service  of  the  fair 
may  sometimes  be  made  to  reap  rich  reward. 
And  the  article,  worded  to  excite  curiosity  with- 
out conveying  facts,  ended  by  forecasting  a  new 
chapter,  at  an  early  date,  about  the  lost  gem 
that  would  surpass  in  excitement  anything  so  far 
derived  from  its  adventures. 


44 


Ill 

At  this  crisis  of  the  matter  of  the  Carcellini 
emerald  Eunice  Farnsworth,  who  had  seen  her 
lord  depart  for  a  banquet  of  public  men,  from 
which  even  her  claims  could  not  appropriately 
detain  him,  sat,  one  evening,  quite  alone.  She 
had  eaten  a  ridiculous  little  dinner  of  the  kind 
affected  by  women  deserted  on  like  occasions, 
had  retired  to  her  morning-room  upstairs,  and 
was  now  sitting  buried  in  the  depths  of  an  easy- 
chair,  with  an  open  letter  upon  her  knee. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  married  life  Eunice 
was  unhappy.  She  had  received  that  day, 
inclosed  by  her  friend  Mrs.  Ellison,  a  copy  of 
the  mysterious  newspaper  article  hinting  darkly 
that  the  suspicions  of  those  who  knew  were  now 
turned  upon  a  guest  at  the  famous  dinner  where 
the  jewel  had  disappeared.  Read  by  a  casual 
person  the  paragraphs  were  void  of  specific 
application;  to  the  initiated  there  could  be  but 
one  interpretation,  and  that  connected  with  a 
most  odious  act  Mrs.  Farnsworth's  own  dear 
brother,  Tom! 

"I  am  still  far  too  wretched  and  broken  up  to 
45 


THE    CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

think  of  coming  back  to  town,"  said  her  corres- 
pondent, who  wrote  from  a  Southern  health 
resort;  "and  Gertrude  is  just  getting  back  her 
nerve  and  tone.  But  rather  than  let  such  an 
insinuation  pass  unchallenged  we  would  do  any- 
thing, make  any  exertion.  Of  course,  there  are 
only  a  few  people  who  could  understand  the 
detestable  suggestion;  but  the  hint  that  more  is 
to  follow  fills  me  with  dismay.  Why  cant  they 
let  the  whole  affair  alone?  It  is  my  loss,  my  mis- 
fortune. I  have  accepted  it,  and  that  ought  to 
be  the  end.  I  have  definitely  withdrawn  the 
case  from  the  hands  of  the  detectives,  feeling 
assured  that  I  could  never  take  my  place  at  the 
head  of  my  own  table  again  if  I  pushed  the  mis- 
ery of  suspicion  into  an  innocent  person's  life — 
and  that  person  my  friend  and  chosen  guest. 
Arden  may  say,  and  probably  does,  to  you, 
'Elizabeth  was  always  obstinate. '  Perhaps  I  am ; 
but  in  this  case  I  have  already  had  more  than 
my  share  of  distress  and  annoyance  from  outside 
comment.  They  will  be  having  it  next  that  my 
own  Gertrude  took  the  wretched  emerald.  I 
wish  my  poor  husband  had  never  spent  a  fortune 
in  buying  it  for  me.  But  this  much  is  certain: 
if  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  come  back  to  town  in 
order  to  refute  the  abominable  insinuation 
against  your  brother,  I  will  do  so — at  any  sacri- 
46 


THE    CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

fice.  The  only  thing  that  occurs  to  me  is  that 
Arden  may  be  able  to  choke  off  any  further  men- 
tion of  the  affair  in  the  newspaper  that  has  done 
us  this  injury." 

"I  could  tell  her,"  thought  Eunice,  bitterly, 
"that  Arden  has  already  been  in  treaty  with  the 
editor  to  that  effect,  and  that  he  could  get  no 
satisfaction,  the  man  declaring  that  if  the  'gen- 
tleman' alluded  to  was  guilty  of  the  theft,  his 
high  place  in  society  makes  it  a  public  duty  to 
expose  him,  especially  since  the  owner  of  the 
lost  jewel  has  so  weakly  backed  out  of  her 
responsibility  to  justice." 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  theme  for  thought. 
Eunice  longed  for  the  bright,  strong  presence  of 
her  brother  to  dissipate  the  clouds  that  seemed  to 
close  her  in.  But  Tom  was  away  in  the  West 
for  an  indefinite  period.  He  had  left  town  the 
morning  after  Mrs.  Ellison's  unlucky  dinner, 
from  which  he  and  his  sister  had  withdrawn 
simply  because  it  was  impossible  for  them,  in 
self-respect,  to  remain  for  a  dance  of  which  Car- 
michael  was  the  leader.  Carmichael  no  doubt 
had  recognized  their  motive  in  quitting  the 
house.  For  this  offense  against  his  vanity,  and 
the  refusal  to  know  him  that  had  preceded  it, 
was  it  possible  that  he — 

Eunice  sprang  upon  her  feet.  She  had  solved 
47 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

the  motive  of  the  attack  upon  her  brother.  It 
was  Carmichael  they  had  to  thank  for  the  foul 
imputation.  And  upon  this  poor,  lying,  truck- 
ling creature,  living  upon  his  wits  and  the  pat- 
ronage of  wealthy  friends,  she  had  once  lavished 
the  treasure  of  her  young,  impulsive  love!  A 
flood  of  shame  and  disgust  ran  over  her.  Then 
anger  filled  up  the  measure  of  her  emotions.  If 
she  could  only  meet  him — crush  him  with  her 
disdain — make  him  confess  the  new  offense  he 
had  committed  against  his  former  benefactor! 

For  Eunice,  despite  her  marriage  and  the  dig- 
nity that  fact  gave  her,  despite  her  husband's 
wise  control,  was  still  a  very  young,  impulsive 
woman,  and  in  that  moment  felt  strong  enough 
for  any  deed  of  righteous  wrath. 

A  servant,  coming  noiselessly  into  the  room, 
presented  at  her  side  a  little  tray  containing  a 
card. 

"But  I  told  you  I  am  not  receiving,  Jasper," 
she  said,  without  offering  to  take  up  the  card. 

"The  gentleman  said  it  is  about  a  matter  of 
business,  madam,  and  that  he  will  detain  you  a 
few  moments  only." 

She  glanced  at  the  name,  and  felt  a  throb  of 
the  heart  that  almost  choked  her  utterance,  for 
it  was  the  card  of  Ashton  Carmichael ! 

Here,  in  her  house!  He  had  ventured  to  cross 
48 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

her  threshold !     It  must  indeed  be  a  matter  of 
importance  that  had  nerved  him  to  come  here ! 

"Say  I  shall  be  down  at  once,  Jasper." 

Her  spirit  rose  as  she  went  down  the  broad 
stairway  of  her  husband's  home.  She  was  on 
her  own  ground,  safely  intrenched;  he  was  the 
intruder  whom  a  word  could  thrust  from  her 
door. 

Something  of  this  was  apparent  in  her  beauti- 
ful face,  in  her  erect  head,  her  eyes  sparkling 
with  indignation. 

Carmichael,  who  had  not  sat  down  in  the 
formal  room  of  state  into  which  they  had  ushered 
him,  felt  it,  and  winced.  He  had  come  there 
relying  upon  his  unconquerable  audacity,  and  to 
be  so  soon  put  at  a  disadvantage  he  resented 
bitterly.  But  he  did  not  mean  to  let  her  speak 
first. 

"I  know  what  you  would  say,"  he  began,  with 
an  assumption  of  humility.  "I  am  a  pretender, 
a  man  who  pushes  himself  where  he  is  not  bid- 
den; a  villain,  if  you  like.  But  I  have  some 
feeling  left,  and  I  mean  to  prove  it  to  you." 

She  inclined  her  head  with  cold  disdain,  still 
standing  before  him. 

"I  put  out  of  the  question  everything  that 
relates  to  our  own  two  selves — though  if  you 
knew  all  the  story  of  that  year — " 
49 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

"You  asked  to  see  me  on  business,  I  under- 
stood," she  interrupted,  as  if  he  had  come  to 
peddle  his  wares  in  her  drawing-room. 

Carmichael  blushed  crimson.  The  sting  of 
her  manner  was  intolerable. 

"I  came,  if  you  will  have  it  outright,  to  offer 
to  save  you  and  your  brother  Tom  from  the 
scandals  that  are  already  attacking  his  good 
name,"  he  exclaimed,  angrily.  "For  the  sake 
of  old  times  I  can  forgive  your  inhospitality,  and 
even  the  insulting  rudeness  of  your,  and  his, 
and  your  husband's  manner  to  me  at  the  Elli- 
sons' dinner.  I  suppose  you  did  not  dream  that 
entertainment  was  to  terminate  so  unfortunately 

for  you.  The  mischief  this  article  in  the 

has  done  him  is,  in  point  of  fact,  incredible.  I 
happen  to  have  some  control  over  the  situa- 
tion—" 

"Then  it  t's  your  work!  I  thought  so,"  she 
said,  cutting  him  short.  "May  I  ask  why  you 
presume  to  come  to  me?" 

"You  are  determined  to  think  the  worst  of 
me,"  he  answered,  growing  white  where  he  had 
been  red.  "I  repeat  that  I  came  in  friendship. 
I  can  be  of  service  to  you,  and  I  offer  to  do  my 
best.  I  can,  in  two  words,  get  the  forthcoming 
article  suppressed,  and  will  do  so  upon  condition 
that  you  withdraw  your  enmity  to  me  before  the 
So 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

world ;  that  you  acknowledge  and  receive  me  in 
your  house,  and  consent  to  overlook  the  past; 
that  you  induce  your  husband  to  treat  me  with 
common  civility.  This  is  not  so  much  for  me  to 
ask  from  you — Eunice — the  only  woman  I  ever 
loved,  who  has  gone  from  me  forever." 

For  one  moment  her  eyes  met  his,  and  she  saw 
that  he  spoke  the  truth  in  what  he  had  said  last — 
that  in  all  his  poor,  mean,  warped  life  his  feel- 
ing for  her  had  been  the  best  he  had  known. 
But  even  this  feeling  he  would  now  make  the 
vehicle  of  his  selfish  schemes.  Eunice  tried  to 
compass,  but  could  not,  the  infinite  pettiness  of 
the  bargain  he  strove  to  make  with  her.  Her 
brain,  confused  and  shocked,  refused  to  see, 
what  came  to  her  afterward,  that  he  could  not, 
at  this  crisis,  afford  to  meet  the  open  suspicion 
and  hostility  of  a  man  of  Arden  Farnsworth's 
importance. 

"I  do  not  see — I  cannot  believe — that  we 
should  owe  this  to  you,"  she  replied,  more 
softly.  "I  can  speak  certainly  for  Tom,  that  he 
would  resent  your  interference  in  any  affair  of 
his.  If  I  have  done  you  injustice  in  supposing 
you  are  responsible  for  our  annoyance,  I  am 
willing  to  ask  your  pardon.  But  I  am  sure — 
quite,  quite  sure — we  can  none  of  us  ever  believe 
in  you  again." 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

"You  are  indeed  implacable,"  he  muttered. 

That  she  did  not  ask  him  to  be  seated  cut  him 
to  the  quick.  He  lingered  uncertainly  for  a  few 
moments,  then  bowing  to  her,  took  his  leave. 
The  footman,  standing  in  the  hall  outside, 
opened  the  door  for  him,  then  was  summoned 
back  by  Mrs.  Farnsworth. 

"You  will  remember,  Jasper,  and  tell  the 
others  to  remember,  that  I  am  never  at  home  to 
Mr.  Ashton  Carmichael  again." 

The  man,  who,  like  the  rest  of  his  fraternity, 
knew  all  the  figure-heads  of  polite  society,  went 
below  and  told  his  mates  that  there  was  "one 
house,  anyhow,  that  cheeky  young  feller  Car- 
michael was  not  to  boss,"  and  he  was  glad  to  see 
him  made  to  eat  a  little  humble  pie.  More  than 
ever  her  servants  admired  their  fair  young  mis- 
tress, whose  wit  and  spirit  and  beauty,  joined  to 
her  friendly  consideration  for  their  feelings,  had 
elicited  their  unanimous  and  not-to-be-despised 
applause. 

"You  are  very  brave  and  sagacious,  my  little 
wife,"  said  her  husband,  when  she  told  him  later 
on  of  her  interview;  "but  you  are  playing  an 
unequal  game.  That  fellow,  if  my  instinct  is 
not  at  fault,  will  stop  at  nothing.  And  the  key 
to  the  present  overture  to  you,  my  dear,  is  that 
he's  afraid  of  me!" 

52 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

"What  can  you  have  done  to  him,  Arden,  dear, 
besides  scowling  most  unbecomingly  whenever 
he  has  been  near?" 

"I  stand,  in  a  way,  behind  Elizabeth  Ellison, 
who,  if  she  changes  her  mind — and  women  have 
been  known  to  do  so — and  takes  my  advice,  will 
run  a  very  good  chance  of  recovering  the  Car- 
cellini  emerald." 

"Arden!  What  do  you  mean?  It  isn't  pos- 
sible you  think — " 

"Never  mind  what  I  think.  Even  to  you, 
dearest,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  it  in  plain 
words.  But  this  visit  of  his  to-night,  and  his 
proposition  to  put  us  under  obligation  through 
this  matter  of  Tom's,  is  the  most  impudent  bluff 
I  ever  heard  of.  To-morrow  I  wire  for  Tom. 
He  will  reach  here  in  the  course  of  the  week, 
probably;  and  we  shall  go  together  to  that 
newspaper  office  and  force  a  withdrawal  of  their 
threatened  revelation.  Depend  on  it,  the  mat- 
ter of  Mr.  Ashton  Carmichael  will  not  rest  upon 
this  evening's  work.  The  Carcellini  emerald 
scandal  is  about  to  assume  a  new  and  interesting 
phase." 

At  the  clubs  that  night,  and  in  many  homes 
next  day,  it  seemed  that  people  had,  simultane- 
ously and  without  apparent   new   provocation, 
53 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

adopted  Mr.  Farnsworth's  view  of  the  late 
excitement.  Flaring  up  from  the  coals,  the 
gossip  about  it  began  to  burn  with  tenfold  vigor. 
Some  oracles  went  so  far  as  to  declare  that  Mrs. 
Ellison  had  recovered  her  jewel,  had  forgiven 
the  thief  (who  had  gone  to  reside  on  a  ranch  in 
New  Mexico),  and  in  token  of  gratitude  for  her 
signal  mercy  was  about  to  present  the  Carcellini 
emerald  to  the  Metropolitan  Museum  in  Central 
Park.  The  hint  given  by  the  offending  news- 
paper had  not  so  far,  prompted  the  general  pub- 
lic to  bring  Tom  Oliver's  name  into  the  affair. 
He  was  too  little  known  to  the  makers  of  para- 
graphs and  the  purveyors  of  contemporaneous 
news  items  to  tempt  the  fate  adumbrated  for  him 
by  Ashton  Carmichael  to  his  sister.  But  any 
number  of  wild,  vague,  irrelevant  stories  were 
started,  and  left  to  drift  down  the  tide  of  idle 
talk. 

When  Oliver,  much  disgusted  on  arrival  in 
New  York  by  the  revelations  of  his  brother-in- 
law,  was  about  to  set  forth  with  that  gentleman 
upon  the  disagreeable  mission  of  stirring  up  the 
erring  newspaper  office  with  a  very  long  pole, 
Mr.  Farnsworth,  in  leaving  his  front  door,  was 
intercepted  by  a  visitor — a  young  woman,  closely 
veiled,  and  wet  by  a  driving  rain,  holding  an 
open  umbrella  in  her  hand. 

54 


THE    CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

"Eh?  Very  sorry,  but  —  private  business, 
you  say? — and  I  am  not  to  speak  for  publication? 
My  dear  lady,  if  you  could  oblige  me  with  the 
least  idea  of  what  you  intend  to  say  I  could  bet- 
ter—" 

They  were  standing  in  the  open  door,  Tom  a 
little  in  the  rear  of  Farnsworth.  Both  men  were 
surprised  at  her  sudden,  impetuous  gesture  in 
throwing  back  her  veil,  and  revealing  a  strong, 
excited  face. 

"Mr.  Oliver!  I  must  speak  to  you,  too. 
Don't  you  remember  Alice  Carmichael?" 

"This  lady  is  entitled  to  the  best  respect  any 
man  has  to  give  her,  Farnsworth,"  said  Tom, 
offering  her  his  hand.  "It  is  a  long  time  since 
we  have  met,  but  I  should  have  known  you  any- 
where. Farnsworth,  mayn't  we  step  back  into 
your  little  study,  to  the  fire,  and  let  Miss  Car- 
michael tell  us  what  is  on  her  mind?" 

"It  seems  that  I  am  always  doomed  to  come 
to  you,  Mr.  Oliver,  under  stress  of  circumstance. 
This  time,  however,  my  errand  shall  be  of  the 
briefest.  I  meant  only  to  give  this" — and  she 
held  out  a  large  brown  envelope  —  "to  Mr. 
Farnsworth  for  you.  It  contains,  as  you  will 
find,  the  original  of  an  article  that  was  to  go  to 
press  to-night.  It  was  surrendered  to  me  of  his 
own  free  will  by  the  author,  who  happens  to  con- 
55 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

sider  himself  under  some  obligations  to  me  for 
past  services.  And  it  will  not  in  any  shape  be 
duplicated  or  repeated.  The  greatest  favor  you 
can  do  me  in  return  is  to  ask  me  no  questions 
concerning  it." 

"Do  you  debar  me  from  telling  you  that  I  am 
everlastingly  obliged  to  you?"  cried  Oliver. 
"You  can  imagine  what.it  was,  Miss  Carmichael, 
to  be  summoned  back  to  New  York  by  my  good 
brother  here,  to  find  a  mine  of  malice  and  filthy 
lies  ready  to  explode  under  my  feet.  I  can't  tell 
you  yet  what  the  whole  confounded  business 
means.  Indeed,  I  should  be  tempted  to  doubt 
the  existence  of  this  rot" — he  gave  the  envelope 
a  scornful  shake — "unless  you  and  Farnsworth 
vouched  for  it." 

"If  you  don't  mind  I  will  look  over  the  con- 
tents, to  satisfy  myself  they  are  what  we  desired 
to  get  hold  of,"  said  Farnsworth,  withdrawing 
with  the  parcel  to  his  desk. 

"Do,  please,"  said  Oliver,  with  a  shrug.  "I 
certainly  shall  not  glance  at  them.  Pray  sit 
down  by  the  fire,  Miss  Carmichael.  I  am  sure 
your  feet  are  wet,  and  you  seem  to^_be  shivering. 
Let  me  ask  my  sister  to  come — " 

"No,  no!"  she  exclaimed,  woefully,  compress- 
ing her  lips  to  keep  back  the  tears  evoked  by  his 
apparition.  "This  is  a  moment  snatched  from 
56 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

business  hours.  I  must  be  off.  I  am  not  cold; 
it  is  nervousness,  I  suppose.  Oh,  think  when 
and  how  I  saw  you  last,  and  you  will  not  wonder! 
And  I  have  lately  had  much  care.  Please  forgive 
me,  Mr.  Oliver;  I  shall  be  all  right  soon." 

Many  and  varied  had  been  the  experiences  of 
other  people's  griefs  falling  to  Alice's  lot  in  her 
professional  career.  For  so  long  she  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  putting  a  lock  upon  her  own  feel- 
ings, while  absorbing  those  of  her  studies  for  the 
press,  she  could  hardly  believe  she  was  giving 
way  to  emotion  on  her  own  account. 

She  had  spent  the  previous  evening  on  duty  in 
the  Tombs  prison,  gathering  for  publication  the 
last  utterances  of  a  wretched  woman  about  to  be 
consigned  for  her  crimes  to  life  imprisonment. 
From  here  she  was  going  on  to  the  tenement- 
house  district  to  write  up  the  case  of  a  starving 
family  for  whom  a  newspaper  fund  was  to  be 
created.  Later  that  day  she  was  due  at  a  crush 
reception,  where  there  were  dresses  to  describe. 
Everywhere  and  every  day  of  her  busy,  lonely 
life,  she  was  the  human  atom  last  to  be  consid- 
ered. 

"I  suppose  you  think  I  am  rather  a  lunatic," 
she  went  on,  with  an  attempt  at  sprightliness, 
seeing  the  deep  concern  in  Oliver's  face.  "But 
you  must  not  mind  my  giving  way  to  this  weak- 

57 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

ness.  It  is  a  relief  to  think  that  anybody  cares. 
Now  I  shall  go,  please — not  to  keep  you  and  Mr. 
Farnsworth  longer." 

Farnsworth,  a  sheaf  of  typed  sheets  in  his 
hand,  came  forward  to  join  them  upon  the  hearth- 
rug. 

"This  is  the  most  diabolically  ingenious  effort 
of  imagination  I  ever  saw!"  he  exclaimed,  impul- 
sively. "What  would  be  a  fair  punishment  for 
such  a  tissue  of  insinuations  that  can  be  read 
in  two  ways,  yet  would  succeed  effectually  in 
damning  the  person  they  are  aimed  at,  I  cannot 
think." 

The  young  journalist  crimsoned  to  the  roots 
of  her  hair. 

"I  have  not  read  it,"  she  said,  in  a  faltering 
tone.  "I  only — became  aware — that  it  was  in 
existence — and  I  was  anxious  to  save  it  getting 
into  print." 

"You  have  placed  us  under  an  obligation  no 
money  could  discharge,"  went  on  Farnsworth, 
kindly;  "but — er — it  would  give  me  genuine 
pleasure  to  express  our  gratitude  in  some  sub- 
stantial way." 

"No,  no;  do  not  speak  of  it!"  she  cried. 
"Your  wife  will  tell  you,  Mr.  Farnsworth,  if  this 
gentleman  does  not,  what  a  debt  I  am  trying  to 
repay. ' ' 

58 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

Before  they  could  interpose  she  had  left  the 
room.  Tom,  overtaking  her  in  the  hall,  urged 
upon  her  to  accept  his  escort,  or  his  assistance 
in  some  way;  but  with  a  melancholy  smile  she 
waved  him  off,  and  taking  up  her  wet  umbrella 
from  the  servant's  hands  went  out  alone  into  the 
rain. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  fine,  frank 
womanly  creature  is  the  sneak's  own  sister?" 
enquired  Farnsworth,  when  Tom,  looking  and 
feeling  crestfallen,  went  back  into  the  study  to 
explain  her  identity.  "It  seems  incredible!  I 
think  her  shyness  with  us  is  because  she  knows 
Ashton  inspired  every  word  of  this  offending 
article,  that  she,  by  good  luck,  has  been  able  to 
abstract  from  the  writer's  clutches.  Probably 
some  poor  devil  of  a  reporter  she's  come  across 
and  befriended.  Jove!  that  girl  was  made  for 
better  things  than  a  life  like  hers.  I  must  set 
Eunice  to  work  to  get  her  out  of  it." 

"You  will  not  succeed,"  replied  Tom.  "She 
is  fine  and  self-helpful  and  proud  to  a  degree,  as 
her  brother  is  the  reverse.  There  is  only  one 
scheme  that  suggests  itself  to  me,"  he  added, 
after  a  pause.  "Somebody  should  marry  her." 

"It  will  be  a  very  brave  body  who  will  saddle 
himself  with  such  a  brother-in-law,"  said  Farns- 
worth, meaningly.  "Don't  let  your  chivalrous 
59 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

sentiment  run  away  with  you,  my  friend.  Unless 
I  am  greatly  mistaken,  Ashton  Carmichael  has 
in  his  possession  the  Carcellini  emerald,  and  will 
ultimately  come  to  grief.  What's  more,  I 
believe  she  thinks  so,  and  that  that  accounts  for 
her  nervousness  with  us.  If  I  knew  more  about 
him  in  the  past  I  could  better  tell.  I  wish,  in  the 
interests  of  justice,  Tom,  you  would  answer  me 
one  question.  Was  the  affair  she  alluded  to  of 
a  nature  to  justify  us  in  suspecting  him  of  an 
act  of  criminal  intent?" 

"I  cannot  answer  you,"  replied  the  young 
man,  bluntly.  "For  years  what  I  know  of  it  has 
never  passed  my  lips;  and  I  shall  never  again 
tell  that  story." 


60 


IV 

The  morning's  drizzle  had  settled  into  a  steady 
downpour  when,  after  concluding  her  notes 
upon  the  fashionable  world  as  seen  at  Mrs.  Hath- 
away's  reception,  Miss  Carmichael,  of  the  Epoch, 
put  on  her  rubber  overshoes,  extinguished  her 
smartest  gown  under  a  waterproof  cloak,  and 
unfurling  her  faithful  umbrella,  slipped  down 
the  steps  and  under  the  awning  at  the  front  door 
to  take  an  east-side  car  for  down  town. 

Her  destination  was  not  unfamiliar,  for  the  car 
stopped  at  a  crossing  very  near  the  house  in 
which  she  previously  visited  her  brother,  Ashton. 
But  as  she  rang  the  bell  of  his  lodgings  and  await- 
ed the  coming  of  the  maid,  Alice's  heart  beat 
with  fierce  excitement.  To  do  what  she  now 
purposed  to  accomplish  would  put  into  requisi- 
tion her  best  courage,  tact,  and  persistence. 

She  had  written  to  her  brother  asking  an 
interview  with  him  at  the  moment  when  her  sus- 
picions first  fell  upon  his  complicity  with  the 
much-talked-of  newspaper  articles  about  the  loss 
of  the  emerald  at  Mrs.  Ellison's  dinner.  Upon 
61 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

his  churlish  refusal  to  receive  her  on  any  terms 
she  had  set  her  wits  to  trace  out  and  discover 
the  tool  whom  he  had  doubtless  employed  to  do 
his  noxious  work. 

This  for  a  time  she  could  not  accomplish.  But 
chance  finally  threw  into  her  way  the  knowledge 
that  on  some  previous  occasion  Carmichael  had 
had  so-called  literary  dealings  with  a  man  named 
Lance,  a  hack-writer  of  ability,  whose  bad  habits 
were  fast  bringing  his  usefulness  to  an  end. 
Now,  indeed,  fate  played  into  her  hands.  The 
year  before  she  had  nursed  Lance's  child  through 
an  illness  ending  in  the  girl's  death  in  her  arms 
in  the  boarding-house  where  they  were  both 
living.  For  Alice,  Lance  would  hazard  his  last 
hope  of  earthly  happiness.  She  was  "to  him  a 
thing  sacred  and  apart  from  his  sordid  world. 
When  she  sought  him  out,  and  asked  him  point- 
blank  whether  he  had  not  been  employed  by  her 
brother,  Ashton  Carmichael,  to  transmit  certain 
information  to  a  certain  newspaper,  the  man  was 
fairly  staggered. 

"Your  brother!"  he  exclaimed.  "That  poor 
sycophant,  whose  pay  even  I  blush  to  take?  He 
whom  we  call  among  ourselves  the  'Little 
Brother  of  the  Rich. '  Good  Lord !  You  are  as 
far  asunder  as  the  poles." 

So  Ashton  thought,  but  with  a  difference ! 
62 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

When  Lance  understood  the  case  he  hastened 
with  almost  pathetic  eagerness  to  bring  his  fin- 
ished material  and  lay  it  in  her  hands. 

"Is  this  little  all  I  can  do  for  you?"  he  asked. 

"No,  Mr.  Lance.  You  might  promise  me 
never  to  put  your  hand  to  such  vile  stuff  again," 
she  said,  looking  him  fearlessly  in  the  face. 

"The  wording  only  is  my  own.  He  gave  me  the 
ideas.  He  said  it  would  be  a  stinger  to  the  man 
he  hated  most.  As  for  the  morality  involved,  I 
am  past  distinguishing  between  the  grades  of 
principle — since  she  left  me,  and  I  see  no  more 
of  you!" 

"There  is  something  in  which  you  might  help 
me,"  she  added,  after  revolving  matters  in  her 
mind.  "I  need  to  see  my  brother — to  talk  with 
him  alone.  He  has  positively  refused  to  receive 
me  in  his  rooms.  I  cannot  push  my  way  there 
in  the  face  of  servants.  Could  you  bring  us 
together,  do  you  think?" 

Lance  brightened. 

"Why  not?  I  have  an  appointment  to  wait 
for  him  at  six  on  Friday.  The  people  of  the 
house  are  used  to  seeing  me  come  and  go,  some- 
times with  a  stenographer.  I  don't  know  if  you 
are  aware  that  he  does  a  steady  business  con- 
tributing 'society  personals'  to  our  paper  and  to 
others.  His  terms  are  high,  but  they  like  to 
63 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

have  him,  because  he's  a  sure  thing.  Will 
you  prefer  to  go  with  me  or  to  meet  me 
there?" 

"I  shall  be  there  at  a  quarter  before  six," 
Alice  had  said,  drawing  a  long  breath. 

She  found  Lance  sitting  in  the  hall. 

"This  is  the  lady  I  told  you  was  coming  to 
take  my  place,  Bridget,"  said  Lance  to  the  ser- 
vant, pleasantly.  Despite  his  shabby  looks  the 
maids  of  the  boarding-house  liked  him,  whom 
they  called  "Mr.  Carmichael's  clerk."  The 
woman  answered  him  in  a  jovial  tone: 

"All  right,  Mr.  Lance.  The  young  lady  can 
go  on  up  and  sit  in  the  sittin'-room. "  As  Lance 
said  good  evening  and  went  out  she  added, 
sociably:  "You  run  right  up,  miss.  Second  story 
front.  But,  laws,  I  remember  you  was  here  be- 
fore! Our  Mr.  Carmichael  do  be  mightily  run 
after  by  the  newspaper  folks.  He's  such  a  high- 
flyer in  society.  But  he  ain't  well,  I'm  thinking; 
he  looks  like  a  sheet  o"  paper  nowadays." 

The  winter's  day  had  closed  in  as  Alice  entered 
her  brother's  room,  and  sat  down  by  the  win- 
dow, listening  to  the  drip,  drip  of  the  rain  upon 
the  sills.  She  wanted  time  to  think  before  he 
should  come  in. 

He  would  resent  her  intrusion  angrily,  of 
course;  but  that  would  be  nothing  in  comparison 
64 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

with  his  wrath  when  he  should  know  for  what 
she  came. 

For  days  she  had  carried  fear  around  with  her, 
and  slept  with  it  at  night.  Putting  together  one 
thing  and  another  that  had  come  to  her  about 
the  unlucky  dinner  at  Mrs.  Ellison's,  she  had 
conceived  the  horrible  suspicion  that  her  brother 
was  the  thief  of  the  ring.  Since  convicting  him 
as  the  source  of  the  slanderous  article  inculpat- 
ing Tom,  this  suspicion  had  been  growing  into 
assurance.  Until  that  morning  her  chief  yearn- 
ing desire  had  been  to  put  Lance's  article  safely 
into  Mr.  Farnsworth's  hands.  That  accom- 
plished, she  had  for  a  moment  'breathed  freer. 
Then  the  blacker  weight  had  settled  down 
again.  A  desperate  resolve  possessed  her.  She 
must  recover  the  ring  from  Ashton,  and  restore 
it  to  its  owner! 

Did  she  not  accomplish  this,  how  could  she 
answer  to  her  dead  mother,  who  with  her  last 
breath  had  prayed  Alice  to  watch  over  the  weak- 
ling of  her  fold,  and  to  forgive  him  until  seventy 
times  seven? 

Behind  Alice  was  a  line  of  Puritan  ancestors 
who  had  lived  and  died  strong  in  the  faith  and 
fear  of  a  just  God.  Surely  He  would  not  permit 
her  to  fail  now  upon  the  threshold  of  such  an 
endeavor.  But  how  could  she  set  about  it? 
65 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

How  induce  Ashton  to  confess  his  crime  unless 
he  were  sure  he  was  found  out? 

As  the  moments  elapsed  that  were  to  bring 
the  sound  of  his  foot  upon  the  stair  the  ticking 
of  his  costly  traveling  clock  over]  the  mantel 
beat  louder  and  louder  on  her  ear.  Her  brow 
and  hands  were  bathed  in  sweat,  yet  she  was 
clammy  cold. 

Six  o'clock!     He  could  not  be  long  now. 

Oh!  she  could  never  bring  him  to  own  the 
truth.  At  the  first  hint  of  her  mission  he  would 
not  hesitate  to  turn  her  with  ignominy  from  the 
house — to  brand  her  as  an  impudent  interloper. 

If  the  'ring  were  here  on  the  table  before  her 
she  would  even  dare  to  take  it,  and  escape,  fly- 
ing till  she  had  laid  it  in  the  right  hands,  risking 
anything  to  save  her  brother  from  the  conse- 
quences of  his  sin  and  crime. 

A  single  jet  of  [gas  burned  low  under  a  shade 
of  crimson  silk  above  the  writing-table,  littered 
with  fantastic  trifles  in  gold  and  silver,  spoils  of 
his  cotillons,  gifts  of  his  admirers.  With  fervid 
fingers  she  turned  on  the  full  light,  drew  down 
the  window-shades  and  looked  about  her.  There 
was  no  desk,  casket,  or  piece  of  furniture  that 
seemed  a  likely  hiding  place  for  so  rare  a  treas- 
ure. He  would  never  dare  to  carry  it  about  his 
person.  Nor,  so  long  as  the  clamor  concerning 
66 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

it  lasted,  would  he  venture  to  dispose  of  the 
Carcellini  emerald! 

Her  face  burning  with  another's  shame,  Alice 
went  into  the  smaller  hall-room,  where  his  bed 
was  and  his  dressing  things  were  kept.  Still  the 
same  commonplace  furnishings,  with  a  litter  of 
clothes  and  boots  and  trinkets  of  the  toilet. 
Here,  too,  she  turned  up  the  gas  and  lit  it, 
terrified  lest  interruption  should  find  her  without 
excuse. 

"For  her  sake,"  she  repeated,  to  give  herself 
courage  in  the  search.  Nothing  was  locked;  all 
was  at  the  mercy  of  the  maid  who  arranged  and 
dusted  Ashton's  rooms.  With  her  old  instinct  of 
making  his  belongings  tidy,  as  she  had  been 
used  to  do  when  they  lived  together,  Alice  began 
straightening  the  ties,  laying  the  handkerchiefs 
in  piles,  and  putting  the  gloves  in  pairs. 

Forgetting  her  real  intent,  she  smiled  as  of 
old  to  find  behind  a  lot  of  other  things  a  box 
filled  with  a  hodgepodge  of  buttons,  sleeve-links, 
cigar-cutters,  scarf-pins,  tangled  with  shoe- 
strings, rubber  bands,  and  other  flotsam  of  a 
crowded  chest  of  drawers.  This  was  Ashton  all 
over,  careless  fellow!  For  the  hundredth  time 
his  loving  sister  would  extract  the  rubbish  from 
things  of  value,  and  set  the  whole  to  rights. 

Out  of  the  confusion  of  this  receptacle  she 
67 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

rolled  a  quaint  curio  in  the  shape  of  a  thimble- 
case  made  from  a  carved  Indian  nut,  with  silver 
frame  and  settings  tarnished  for  a  long  want  of 
cleaning.  The  trifle  was  too  old  and  shabby 
now  to  tempt  anybody's  cupidity,  but  it  aroused 
in  Alice  Carmichael  a  swelling  tide  of  sentiment 
that  overflowed  her  eyes  and  softened  her  heart 
to  childlike  tenderness.  For  it  had  been  a  gift 
to  their  mother  long  ago;  had  lain  in  her  work- 
basket,  and  was  once  scrambled  for  by  her  chil- 
dren with  eagerness  proportioned  to  her  with- 
drawal of  it  from  their  grasp.  Later  on  it  had 
been  given  to  Ashton,  because  he  had  first  dis- 
covered the  trick  of  opening  it  by  pressing  a 
hidden  spring.  By  some  freak  of  chance  it  had 
knocked  about  among  his  belongings  ever  since. 

Alice  took  the  poor  little  blackened  relic  in 
her  hand  and  went  back  with  it  into  the  sitting- 
room,  where  she  dropped  upon  a  chair,  abandon- 
ing herself  to  retrospect.  Away  flew  the 
hideous  nightmare  of  her  present  quest.  Ashton 
and  she  were  children  together,  she  loving  him, 
sheltering  him,  proud  of  his  beauty  and  accom- 
plishments, following  his  lead  with  blind  idolatry. 

With  this  amulet  in  her  grasp  she  longed  to 
clasp  him  again  in  her  arms,  to  talk  with  him  of 
their  mother,  their  old  home;  to  laugh  and  chaff 
with  him  about  the  things  of  every  day. 
68 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

Mechanically  her  fingers  fumbled  with  the 
thimble-case,  turning  it  over  and  over  to  feel 
for  the  point  of  the  carving  that  concealed  its 
mystery.  Smiling,  she  discovered  at  last  the 
spring — touched  it — the  nut  flew  open — some- 
thing dropped  into  her  lap  that  she  reached 
down  to  regain.  She  was  astounded  to  find  her 
fingers  close  upon  a  gem  that  at  the  gleam  of 
gas-light  falling  full  upon  its  lustrous  surface 
sent  up  a  bubbling,  dazzling  fount  of  greenish 
flame!  She  started  with  a  convulsive  movement 
of  dismay.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  she 
held  in  her  hand  the  Carcellini  emerald! 

Then  flowed  upon  her  soul  a  torrent  of  deep- 
est misery.  Once  before  her  brother  had  been 
guilty  of  a  theft— of  moneys  laid  to  Tom  Oliver's 
account  as  treasurer  of  a  college  fund.  But  she 
had  paid  that  out  of  her  poor  earnings,  and 
Tom,  for  her  sake,  had  offered  to  hush  the  matter 
up,  and  give  Ashton  "another  chance." 

And  thus  he  had  used  his  chance!  The  flaring 
radiance  of  the  jewel  seemed  to  taunt  her 
anguish. 

What  should  she  do?  Whither  should  she 
turn  to  save  him  once  again?  Rising,  her  feet 
refused  to  sustain  her.  As  she  stood  dizzy, 
trembling,  aghast,  holding  the  precious  jewel  as 
she  looked  at  it,  the  door  opened  and  her  brother 
69 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

came  into  the  room.  His  eyes  flashed  anger 
at  sight  of  her,  but  something  more  devilish 
inspired  him  when  he  saw  what  she  had  in  her 
hand. 

In  two  bounds  he  was  across  the  room  and  had 
seized  her.  She  shut  her  eyes,  and  uttered  a 
prayer  to  God  for  strength.  She  was  wiry  and 
vigorous,  and  did  not  mean  to  let  Ashton  take 
the  emerald  from  her  if  she  could  help  it.  At  all 
costs  she  would  save  him  from  himself.  He 
said  not  a  word,  nor  did  she.  Each  was  fiercely 
determined  to  conquer  in  the  struggle.  Too 
well  he  knew  that  if  he  could  regain  his  stolen 
prize,  and  turn  her  from  his  room,  her  lips 
would  be  sealed  as  before. 

But  he  was  not  prepared  for  her  physical 
resistance.  At  his  approach  she  had  slipped  the 
gem  into  hiding  in  her  dress,  keeping  her  right 
hand  clenched  as  if  she  still  held  it  in  her  grasp. 

Without  mercy  he  bent  her  arm  back  and 
forth,  hurting  her  cruelly,  and  at  last,  forcing 
her  bruised  fingers  apart,  saw  that  she  held  noth- 
ing between  them.  Then  with  a  savage  oath  he 
struck  her  full  across  the  face ! 

Alice  staggered  back,  stunned  and  dismayed. 

But  she  did  not  waver  in  her  intention  to  get  by 

him  to  the  door,  and  thence  make  her  escape 

into  the  street.     Once  free  of  Ashton  she  would 

70 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

carry  the  jewel  to  Mr.  Farnsworth  or  Tom 
Oliver  if  she  could  not  reach  its  owner. 

Ashton  divined  her  scheme.  His  only  hope 
lay  in  keeping  her  prisoner  till  he  could  force 
her  to  give  up  the  gem.  With  more  brutal  words 
he  started  to  cut  off  her  retreat  by  putting  his 
back  against  the  door.  His  whole  appearance 
was  transformed  by  furious  passion. 

At  that  moment  help  came  to  her  from  a  quar- 
ter on  which  she  had  not  counted.  She  saw  her 
brother  shiver  all  over,  and  grow  deadly  pale. 
His  left  hand  made  a  clutching  movement 
toward  his  heart;  he  staggered  forward,  and 
fell — into  her  arms. 

Alice  had  seen  this  once  before — an  occasion 
never  to  be  forgotten.  She  knew  the  terror- 
stricken  eyes,  the  awful,  helpless  appeal  for  relief 
from  sudden  oppression.  His  livid  features 
brought  back  to  her  with  agonizing  force  the 
face  of  their  dying  mother  under  like  conditions. 
Exerting  all  her  powers  she  dragged  him  to  a 
sofa,  laid  him  down,  and  flew  to  ring  the  bell, 
peal  upon  peal. 

The  maid  who  ran  up  to  answer  it  gave  one 
frightened  glance  into  the  room  and  rushed  back 
to  the  landing  to  summon  help  from  any  one 
who  might  be  passing  on  the  stairs.  Her  call 
brought  among  others  a  gentleman  just  admitted 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

into  the  hall  below.  In  the  maze  of  her  feelings 
Alice  hardly  felt  surprised  to  see  Tom  Oliver 
entering  her  brother's  room.  She  begged  him, 
pathetically,  to  explain  to  the  proprietors  of  the 
house  her  right  to  be  there,  then  went  on  her 
knees  again  beside  the  prostrate  form  upon  the 
lounge.  In  a  very  few  moments  a  physician 
came,  and  Alice,  giving  place  to  him,  let  Tom 
lead  her  over  to  a  window,  where  he  left  her 
looking  out  into  the  night. 

Returning  presently  he  toia  her  that  all  was 
over.  Ashton  had  died  without  coming  back  to 
consciousness. 

"You  will  let  me  take  charge  of  everything," 
he  added,  with  deep  feeling  in  his  voice. 
"When  I  stood  with  the  doctor  looking  down  at 
him  I  forgot  what  I  came  here  to  say — every- 
thing, in  fact,  but  that  I  once  loved  him  like  a 
brother." 

"I  think  I  know  what  you  came  for,"  she 
answered,  wistfully.  "You  meant  to  silence 
him  for  the  future,  and  now  death  has  done  it — 
oh,  how  awfully!" 

She  shuddered.  The  pain  of  her  body  was 
beginning  to  make  itself  severely  felt.  It  re- 
called to  her  the  prize  for  which  she  had  risked 
so  much,  that  lay  close  to  the  tumultuous  beat- 
ings of  her  heart.  Above  all  things  she  longed 
72 


THE   CARCELLINI   EMERALD 

for  advice  from  Tom  concerning  it,  but  could 
not  bring  herself  to  speak  the  words  that  would 
incriminate  the  dead. 

When,  some  months  later  Tom  Olivei  asked 
Alice  Carmichael  to  be  his  wife  she  tried  to  make 
him  understand  that  in  addition  to  other  reasons 
why  she  could  not  accept  his  "generous  sacri- 
fice," there  was  one  supreme  obstacle  between 
them. 

"Do  not  tell  me,"  he  said,  with  authority, 
"what  you  conceive  this  to  be.  I  know  all  that 
I  care  to  know  of  what  has  kept  us  apart  till 
now.  It  is  the  future,  not  the  past,  that  you  and 
I  have  to  deal  with.  I  shall  take  you  to  live  far 
away  from  the  scenes  of  your  sorrowful  mem- 
ories— and  for  the  rest  trust  me!" 

But  no  man,  however  thoughtful,  however  lov- 
ing, can  extinguish  in  a  faithful  woman's  heart 
the  flame  of  her  earliest  tenderness.  Often  and 
again  Alice  Oliver  thinks  of  the  lonely,  unhon- 
ored  grave  in  which  lies  one  who  is  never  men- 
tioned in  her  little  family.  Less  often — but  now 
always  kindly — Eunice  Farnsworth  thinks  of  him, 
too. 

The  restoration  to  its  owner  of  the  great  Car- 
cellini  emerald— without  the  ring — is  well  known 
73 


THE   CARCELLINI    EMERALD 

to  have  occurred  directly  upon  Mrs.  Ellison's 
return  to  town  from  her  Southern  journey.  It 
was  sent  back  to  her  as  mysteriously  as  it  had 
vanished.  No  clew  was  ever  found  that  informed 
the  public  of  the  author  of  either  its  disappear- 
ance or  its  reappearance, 


74 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING   AND 
ITS  CONSEQUENCES 


AN    AUTHOR'S   READING  AND 
ITS  CONSEQUENCES 


For  some  time  Sutphen  had  been  in  proud  pos- 
session of  a  Literary  Club,  the  leading  spirit  of 
which  organization  was  the  lively  and  irrepres- 
sible wife  of  the  chief  banker  of  the  town. 

People  in  Sutphen,  including  her  family,  her 
followers  and,  last  but  not  least,  her  husband, 
never  knew  what  Mrs.  Chauncey  Stratton  was 
going  to  do  next  for  the  benefit  or  entertain- 
ment of  their  lives.  She  rushed  them  from 
bazaar  to  out-door  play,  from  concerts  to  cooking 
classes.  She  and  her  coterie  of  womenfolk  had 
descended  upon  the  editor  of  the  principal  news- 
paper, and  made  him  give  them  one  issue  of  his 
journal  to  be  edited  by  them  for  charity.  And 
about  six  months  before  she  had  instituted  a  series 
of  fortnightly  meetings,  at  which  men  and  women 
were  to  meet  for  discussion  of  books  and  cur- 
rent events.  After  the  president  (of  course, 
Mrs.  Chauncey  Stratton)  had  accomplished  the 
matter  of  reading  before  the  assembled  club  two 
or  three  papers  embodying  her  own  views  of 
77 


AN   AUTHOR'S    READING 

given  subjects,  and  was  getting  a  little  tired 
of  it,  her  friends  began  dimly  to  feel  that  some- 
thing new  would  shortly  be  in  order  to  brighten 
these  occasions — something  fresh  and  metropoli- 
tan, fin  de  sihle,  that  would  carry  Sutphen  again 
up  on  the  wave  of  novelty. 

But  like  all  great  leaders,  Mrs.  Chauncey 
Stratton  had  malcontents  in  her  camp — close  to 
her  person — sharing  in  her  daily  councils.  The 
chief  complaint  made  in  vulgar  parlance  by  these 
unsatisfied  ones  was  that  they  were  tired  of  being 
bossed. 

The  matter  was  under  discussion  one  morning 
in  the  cozy  library  of  the  secretary  of  the  club, 
a  well-to-do  spinster,  Miss  Cornelia  Bennett, 
whose  claim  to  literary  cousinship  was  based 
upon  substantial  grounds.  For  some  years  she 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  sending  slips  of  linen 
cloth  to  authors  in  America  and  Europe,  with 
the  request  that  they  would  inscribe  thereon 
their  names  in  pencil.  These  autographs,  duly 
returned  to  and  "backstitched"  in  color  by  Cor- 
nelia, were  then  assembled  in  a  sort  of  "crazy 
quilt,"  and  sold  for  the  benefit  of  a  hospital  for 
incurables.  After  this  signal  success  in  the 
world  of  letters,  Miss  Bennett  had  been  elected 
without  a  dissenting  voice  to  be  Mrs.  Stratton's 
second  in  command.  She  was  a  meek,  ashen- 
78 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING 

hued  female,  who,  to  all  appearance,  accepted 
it  as  her  manifest  destiny  to  walk  in  Mrs.  Strat- 
ton's  tracks,  never  dreaming  of  such  defiance  as 
pushing  ahead  of  her,  or  crossing  her  line  of 
march.  But,  in  reality,  while  engaged  in  cover- 
ing for  distribution  among  the  members  of  the 
club  the  batch  of  new  books  ordered  by  Mrs. 
Stratton  from  New  York,  a  strange  spirit  of 
revolt  was  kindling  in  her  flat  chest.  Aiding 
Miss  Bennett  in  her  work,  sat  Mrs.  Mark  Grind- 
stone, a  large,  dull,  catarrhal  lady,  chosen  to 
serve  as  treasurer  of  their  organization — chiefly 
because  she  lived  in  a  large,  dull  house,  was 
sustained  by  a  large,  dull  husband,  and  wore  to 
church  on  Sundays  a  black  velvet  cloak  bursting 
with  jet  beads  and  bugles  at  every  pore. 

Dull  as  Mrs.  Grindstone  was,  she  yet  pos- 
sessed the  spirit  of  the  traditional  worm.  "Of 
what  use  is  it,"  she  asked  herself,  "to  wear  the 
handsomest  cloak  in  Sutphen,  if  one  is  always  to 
be  ordered  to  the  right  about  by  Annetta  Strat- 
ton?" 

And  "Why  have  I  been  in  correspondence  with 
the  most  prominent  brain-workers  of  two  hemi- 
spheres," wondered  Cornelia,  "if  here  I  am 
actually  afraid  to  portion  out  the  books  before 
Annetta  Stratton  comes?  If  we  had  only  a 
chance!"  she  murmured,  making  common  cause 
79 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING 

with  Mrs.  Grindstone,  "to  show  her  that  when 
called  upon  for  independent  action,  we  can  be 
her  equals  in  success." 

"We  will  make  a  chance,"  said  Mrs.  Grind- 
stone, after  clearing  her  throat,  rather  unpleas- 
antly, Cornelia  thought.  "What  Annetta  does 
not  like  to  think  is  that  other  people  can  do 
things  without  her  telling  them  how.  It  would 
be  a  good  plan  to  keep  quiet  and  go  ahead,  and 
do  some  big  thing  exactly  as  she  means  to  do 
it — on  the  same  scale,  in  every  way." 

"Exactly!"  said  Cornelia,  with  animation,  as 
she  wrestled  with  the  crackly  brown  paper 
enshrouding  the  last  book  of  her  pile.  "One 
such  lesson  would  be  enough  for  Annetta." 

"Just  so,"  said  Mrs.  Grindstone,  fairly  slap- 
ping her  last  label  into  place. 

"Look  here,  girls,"  interposed  old  Mrs.  Ben- 
nett, who  always  read  her  morning's  paper  from 
the  rising  to  the  going  down  of  its  varied  infor- 
mation; "fine  times  have  come  to  Sutphen. 
Here's  a  city  caterer  set  up  in  that  built-over 
block  on  Main  Street,  where  Blink's  shoe-store 
used  to  be  before  the  fire.  There's  nothing  he 
doesn't  offer  to  furnish  to  customers — bread, 
rolls,  patty  shells,  ice-creams  (French  and  Amer- 
ican), birthday  cakes,  weddin*  cakes,  salads,  co- 
tillon favors,  Jack  Homer  pies — " 
80 


1 


AN    OPPORTUNITY    TO    DECK    OUT    HER    BOARD    WITH    AN    EFFECT. 


AN  AUTHOR'S   READING 

"You  don't  say  so?"  interpolated  Mrs.  Grind- 
stone with  housekeeperish  relish. 

"Yes;  and  he  undertakes  to  serve  'dinners, 
luncheons,  teas,  and  receptions  with  glass,  silver- 
ware, and  elegant  services  of  china,  competent 
waiters  and  chefs,  awnings,  camp-chairs,  crash, 
tables,  decorations — all  in  first-class  style!'  ' 

"For  all  the  world  as  they  do  it  in  the  city," 
exclaimed  Miss  Cornelia,  excitedly.  "Mother, 
it  does  look  as  if  Providence  had  rolled  a  stone 
out  of  our  pathway.  Everybody  knows  we 
could  have  had  just  as  fine  parties  as  Annetta 
Stratton  if  we'd  only  not  had  to  ask  her  how  to 
set  about  givin'  'em.  And  so  could  you,  Mrs. 
Grindstone.  Your  house  is  two  feet  wider  than 
Annetta's,  four  rooms  on  a  floor,  and  splendid 
chandeliers  in  every  room.  Just  the  place  for 
an  evening  reception,  like  the  one  I  went  to  at 
Professor  Slocum's  in  New  York." 

"I  have  often  thought  of  it,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Grindstone.  "Of  course,  there 'd  be  some 
trouble  to  get  Mr.  Grindstone  into  it.  He's 
sort  o'  set  in  his  ways,  and  thinks  it  a  sin  to 
light  more  than  one  gas  burner  in  a  room.  But 
we  might  get  over  him,  if  there  was  only  any 
excuse  to  give  a  party — any  brides  or  explorers 
or  great  folks  that  we  knew,  coming  to  town, 
that  had  to  be  entertained." 
Si 


AN    AUTHOR'S    READING 

"That's  it,"  said  Miss  Cornelia.  "We  are 
as  dull  as  ditchwater  in  Sutphen — unless  An- 
netta  stirs  us  up,"  she  added,  reluctantly. 

At  this  moment,  enter  Mrs.  Chauncey  Strat- 
ton,  plump,  rustling,  well-dressed,  with  red 
cheeks  like  a  china  doll,  self-satisfaction  in 
every  line  of  her  face,  in  every  movement  of  her 
person.  At  the  bare  sight  of  her  the  two  con- 
spirators shrunk  into  their  shells.  Old  Mrs. 
Bennett,  who  had  returned  to  the  perusal  of  a 
column  devoted  to  the  wants  of  domestic  service, 
alone  preserved  her  equilibrium. 

"My  dear  girls,"  exclaimed  the  oracle,  drop- 
ping into  her  chair  at  the  literary  table,  "if  I  am 
late,  put  it  down  to  the  claims  of  excessive  cor- 
respondence. And  as  I  see  you've  finished 
with- the  books,  let  me  lose  no  time  in  informing 
you  that  I  have]  just  had  the  good  fortune  to 
conclude  successfully  a  negotiation  for  a  lecture 
before  our  club  from  no  less  a  literary  light  than 

Timothy  Bludgeon,  who  is  at  the Hotel  in 

New  York." 

"Bludgeon,  the  English  author!"  replied  Miss 
Cornelia,  faintly.  "Not  that  I've  much  opinion 
of  his  works,  since  he  refused  me  his  autograph 
for  my  quilt,  and  even  sent  me  a  very  tart  letter 
through  his  secretary.  But,  still,  he  is  the  lion 
of  the  day." 

82 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING 

"Precisely,"  observed  Mrs.  Stratton  calmly; 
"so  I  made  up  my  mind  to  get  him — and  I  did!" 

Mrs.  Grindstone  made  a  series  of  muffled 
sounds  that  might  have  been  applause.  In  her 
heart  she  was  struck  with  jealous  indignation. 
Quick  as  a  flash  she  and  Cornelia  saw  open 
before  them  another  vista  in  which  Annetta 
would  walk  glorified,  they  remaining  part  of  the 
inconspicuous  crowd  ranged  on  either  side  of 
her. 

"I  asked  him  to  come  for  our  meeting  on 
the  fifteenth,"  remarked  Mrs.  Stratton,  with  the 
same  exasperating  composure  born  of  certainty. 
"And  he  could  just  fit  it  in  on  his  way  to  Boston. 
He  will  arrive  on  the  n  A.M.  train  on  the 
fifteenth,  and  leave  next  morning  at  the  same 
time,  thus  allowing  to  Sutphen  just  twenty-four 
hours.  I  have  decided  to  give  him  a  dinner  in 
the  evening,  and  to  change  the  hour  for  the 
lecture  to  the  afternoon." 

"Such  assurance!"  said  both  satellites  inter- 
nally. But  they  only  murmured,  "Splendid!" 
"Just  like  you,  Annetta,"  and  the  like. 

"Of  course,  you  and  dear  Mr.  Grindstone  will 
be  included  in  my  dinner  list,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Stratton,  addressing  her  now  speechless  treas- 
urer. "And  you,  Cornelia,  will  pair  with  old 
Major  Gooch.  Sixteen  I  can  seat  easily,  all 
83 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING 

choice  spirits,  and  the  rest  of  the  club  will  have 
to  be  satisfied  with  an  introduction  to  Bludgeon 
over  a  cup  of  tea  at  five  o'clock.  Mr.  Blud- 
geon will,  I  fancy,  see  that  Sutphen  is  not  so  far 
behind  New  York  in  her  style  of  doing  things." 

"And  what  will  the  lecture  be  about?"  ven- 
tured Cornelia,  more  than  anything  else  to  cover 
her  own  pique. 

"Oh,  that  is  of  no  consequence!  Readings 
from  his  own  works,  possibly.  But  the  name  of 
Bludgeon  is  enough.  It  will  exhaust  a  good 
deal  of  the  reserve  fund  of  the  club  to  pay  him 
his  price,  but  I  felt  sure  we  could  make  that  all 
right,  Mrs.  Grindstone.  That  I  had  decided  it 
is  best  would,  of  course,  be  sufficient  for  the 
club." 

And  the  treasurer  was  to  have  no  voice  in 
this,  her  own  especial  branch  of  service!  No 
wonder  Mrs.  Grindstone's  spirit  rose!  Old  Mrs. 
Bennett,  breaking  in  upon  the  conversation  to 
read  aloud  an  obituary  notice  striking  her  fancy, 
effected  a  happy  diversion. 

From  that  date  Mrs.  Stratton,  absorbed  in  her 
own  ambitious  plans  for  a  feast  to  the  English 
author  that  should  be  described  in  the  local 
prints,  and  perchance  quoted  in  metropolitan 
news  columns,  saw  but  little  of  her  two  friends. 
It  was  observed  by  some  lookers-on  that  Cornelia 
84 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING 

Bennett  was  seen  moving  about  the  streets  with 
animation,  paying  frequent  visits  to  the  new 
caterer,  Simonson,  and  preserving  withal  an  air 
of  pleasing  mystery.  Other  people  saw  good 
Mrs.  Grindstone  going  hither  and  thither  in 
much  the  same  way.  And  putting  two  and  two 
together,  Sutphen  decided  that  there  was  to  be 
at  least  a  "chicken  salad  and  oyster  spread"  in 
store  for  the  members  of  the  Literary  Club,  fol- 
lowing the  appearance  on  their  platform  of  the 
great  man,  Timothy  Bludgeon.  The  unliterary 
portion  of  Sutphen  licked  its  chops  at  the  sug- 
gestion! 

But  a  week  before  the  appointed  time,  out 
came  a  genuine  surprise.  Two  sets  of  cards 
were  issued  simultaneously.  One  from  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Bennett,  inviting  their  friends  to  meet 
Mr.  Bludgeon  at  luncheon  on  the  fifteenth ;  the 
other  stating  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grindstone 
would  be  ,"At  Home"  on  the  evening  of  the 
same  day,  at  half-past  ten  o'clock,  with 
the  additional  words,  "To  meet  Mr.  Bludgeon" 
inscribed  across  the  tops! 

Where  now  was  the  wind  to  fill  Mrs.  Stratton's 
sails?  In  vain  might  she  whistle  for  it,  when 
her  lion  was  due  to  roar  at  two  banquets  besides 
her  own  in  the  self-same  day.  And  worse  than 
all,  Cornelia  Bennett,  in  undertaking  to  give 
85 


AN   AUTHOR'S    READING 

this  ridiculous  luncheon  of  hers,  would  actually 
take  precedence  in  point  of  time  of  Mrs.  Chaun- 
cey  Stratton!  Of  course  the  affair  would  be  a 
sad  failure.  Cornelia  knew  little,  her  mother 
less,  of  the  customs  of  entertaining  in  modern 
society.  Theirs  would  be  homely  doings. 
Turkey  with  cranberry  sauce,  for  example; 
jellies  in  tall  glasses  set  around  a  china  compo- 
tier  of  floating  island ;  cakes,  big  and  little.  No 
lobster  farcie,  no  mushroom  on  toast,  French 
chops,  birds,  tongue  in  aspic,  salads,  ices — such 
as  Mrs.  Stratton  would  have  ordered.  Mrs. 
Grindstone's  festivity  would  be — equally,  of 
course — on  the  same  old-fashioned  lines.  Oyster 
stews  and  molds  of  ice-cream,  the  predominat- 
ing element  of  the  table.  A  smell  of  fried  oysters 
enveloping  all.  Oh!  Annetta  well  knew  the 
sort  of  thing  to  expect.  She  pitied  poor  Mr. 
Bludgeon  for  falling  into  the  hands  of  these 
stupid,  pushing  women,  who  were  not  satisfied  to 
sit  still  and  see  her  take  the  field  of  Sutphen's 
hospitality  to  distinguished  strangers.  One 
thought  occurred  to  her,  to  fill  Annetta's  soul 
with  consolation!  The  weak  spot  in  Sutphen's 
domestic  panoply,  as  known  to  all  Sutphen's 
housekeepers,  was  the  general  prevalence  of  plain 
white  or  old  willow-pattern  china  on  the  shelves. 
Most  of  Sutphen's  lords  and  masters  preferred 
86 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING 

these  varieties  of  porcelain,  and  had  set  their 
feet  down  upon  any  suggestion  of  change. 
Strange  to  say,  even  the  amenable  Mr.  Chauncey 
Stratton  had  once  asserted  himself  so  far  as  to 
declare  he  preferred  to  eat  his  meals  from  the 
dishes  he  had  been  accustomed  to  ever  since  his 
wife  and  he  had  set  up  housekeeping.  This  was 
the  crumpled  roseleaf  in  Mrs.  Chauncey  Strat- 
ton's  couch  of  down.  That  her  set  of  white 
porcelain  rejoiced  in  gilded  edges,  while  those 
of  other  people  were  plain,  gave  her  but  limited 
satisfaction.  For  two  years  she  had  been  bend- 
ing every  energy  of  her  mind  toward  securing  a 
set  of  Royal  Meissen — "onion  pattern" — that 
she  had  seen  in  a  famous  shop  in  New  York.  For 
two  years  Mr.  Chauncey  Stratton  had  resisted 
her.  His  attitude  was  to  be  accounted  for  only 
by  the  saying  of  old  Mrs.  Bennett,  "The  very 
best  and  most  biddable  of  husbands  has  his 
obstinate  spot,  my  dear;  and  when  a  woman 
runs  afoul  of  it,  she  might  as  well  give  up." 

Of  late,  coincidently  with  the  threatened 
dinner  to  Mr.  Timothy  Bludgeon,  Mrs.  Stratton 
had  seen  a  ray  of  light  pierce  the  darkness  sur- 
rounding this  question  of  china  for  the  table. 
In  investigating  the  resources  of  Simonson,  the 
New  York  restaurateur,  her  eyes  had  sparkled 
at  the  discovery  in  the  rear  of  his  premises  of  an 
87 


AN   AUTHOR'S    READING 

entire  service  of  "onion  pattern"  Meissen — or 
at  least  a  good  imitation  of  that  desired  origi- 
nal. 

What  an  opportunity  was  here  to  deck  out  her 
board  with  an  "effect"  in  porcelain  of  the  latter- 
day  style  she  aspired  to  introduce  into  Sutphen. 

Little  by  little,  the  wily  caterer  had  induced 
her  to  trust  the  whole  thing  into  his  hands.  In 
cases  where  Simonson  undertook  to  serve  the 
feast  throughout,  it  was  his  custom,  he  said,  to 
supply  also  the  table  service,  china,  silver, 
dishes,  candelabra,  rose-colored  candles  with 
shades  to  match,  side-dishes  for  bonbons — all. 
Under  these  conditions  he  guaranteed  that  Mrs. 
Stratton's  dinner  should  be  the  finest  ever  seen 
in  Sutphen.  And  thus  it  came  to  pass  that  with 
a  heart  lightened  of  responsibility,  but  weighted 
with  some  apprehension  as  to  the  amount  of  the 
final  bill,  Mrs.  Stratton  had  tripped  away  from 
Simonson's.  Her  last  word,  an  afterthought 
upon  the  sidewalk,  which  she  returned  to  the 
shop  to  deliver,  was  to  enjoin  upon  the  glib 
caterer  absolute  silence  regarding  every  detail  of 
her  arrangements. 

When  the  day  arrived  that  was  to  see  the  trip- 
licated entertainment  of  the  Englishman,  Sut- 
phen was  at  fever-heat.  So  much  had  popular 
imagination  expected  of  the  object  of  all  these 
88 


"MR.   BLUDGEON    HAD    BETTER    BE    READ    THAN    SEEN. 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING 

cares,  it  was  a  distinct  disappointment  when  a 
solemn  little  black-a-vised  man  carrying  an 
American  "dress-suit"  case,  stepped  out  of  the 
omnibus  of  the  Dixon  House  and  requested  of 
the  clerk  of  that  hostelry  one  of  his  one-dollar 
rooms.  Barring  a  further  demand  for  hot  water 
in  a  jug — which  the  bell  boy  took  to  indicate 
some  intention  toward  a  private  brew  of  punch — 
there  was  nothing  to  distinguish  the  great  genius 
from  an  ordinary  commercial  traveler.  Some 
enterprising  spirits  who  had  been  hanging  around 
the  hotel  corridor  to  see  this  arrival,  went  home 
and  confided  to  wives  and  daughters  their  opin- 
ion that  Mr.  Bludgeon  had  better  be  read  than 
seen.  And  these  ladies  who  for  days  had  been 
conning  well-thumbed  volumes  of  his  writings 
sighed  the  sigh  of  discomfiture — feeling  rather 
glad,  however,  that  certain  entertainers  who 
were  at  that  moment  yearning  for  his  arrival, 
were  destined  to  share  their  disillusionment. 
Just  before  the  arrival  of  her  twelve  guests  for 
luncheon,  Miss  Bennett  received  a  hasty  note 
from  Mrs.  Stratton,  expressing  deepest  regret 
that  her  fatigue  resulting  from  necessary  cares 
of  state  and  home  (of  which  naturally  there  was 
no  one  to  relieve  her)  would  prevent  her  from 
being  present. 

"'A  positively  raging  headache,'  she  says," 
89 


AN  AUTHOR'S   READING 

remarked  Cornelia,  compressing  her  lips.  "Never 
mind,  mother;  I  don't  care.  I'll  send  right 
over  and  fill  up  with  little  Miss  James,  the  elo- 
cution teacher.  She  is  pretty  and  clever,  and 
can  talk  up  to  Annetta  any  day,  if  she  only 
gets  the  chance.  And  if  you'll  believe  me, 
mother,  it's  not  so  much  headache  the  matter 
with  Annetta  as  vexation  because  I'm  to  skim 
the  cream  off  the  milk  pan  first.  Good  gracious! 
I'm  tired  to  death  myself,  but  I'd  rather  die 
than  give  up  now." 

Curiosity  among  Miss  Bennett's  invites  was 
fully  sated  when,  upon  the  arrival  of  the  guest 
of  honor,  luncheon  was  at  once  announced,  and 
they  filed  into  the  well-remembered  dining-room, 
where  they  had  of  old  partaken  of  feasts  of  the 
frizzled  beef  and  scrambled  egg  description. 
Here,  mirabilc  dictu!  was  a  board  set  out  in  mod- 
ern conventional  fashion — a  silver  wine-cooler 
full  of  roses  in  the  center,  silver  dishlets  holding 
salted  almonds,  bonbons  and  little  cakes  around 
it;  at  each  cover  a  name  card,  napkin,  glass  for 
claret,  another  for  sauterne,  and  still  another 
for  sherry,  setting  off  a  plate  of  blue  Meissen 
porcelain ! 

So  far  Mr.   Bludgeon  had  said  little   beside 
"hum!"  and  "ha!"     He  had  devoured  his  bread 
and  bouillon  in  silence,  and  had  drank  a  glass  of 
90 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING 

white  wine ;  but  now  he  bestowed  upon  the  lis- 
tening public  his  first  connected  utterance: 

"Hum!  ha!  very  fair  imitation,"  he  said 
to  his  hostess,  turning  his  plate  upside  down  to 
gaze  upon  the  trade-mark  on  the  bottom.  "We 
use  this  kind  of  thing  in  our  own  house  for  every 
day.  Perhaps  you  knew — but  it  may  be  only 
chance — that  this  is  my  favorite  pattern  in  china. 
Looks  clean  and  tidy  somehow,  so  I  tell  my 
wife." 

Sustained  by  this  mark  of  approval,  Miss  Ben- 
nett inwardly  blessed  Simonson,  who,  looking 
unconscious  in  an  evening  dress  suit,  was  occu- 
pied at  the  side  table,  in  dispensing  platters  of 
fish  croquettes  to  his  two  subordinates  to  serve. 
She  only  wished  that  Annetta  Stratton  might 
have  been  near  enough  to  hear.  The  rest  of 
the  meal,  whisked  along  expeditiously  by  the 
trained  minions,  went  so  fast,  that  Miss  Bennett 
could  hardly  believe  her  good  luck  when  all 
was  over.  True  to  the  instincts  of  more  artless 
days,  she  had  some  thoughts  of  putting  on  her 
bonnet  and  running  out  to  talk  it  over  with 
Annetta.  But  her  feet  ached,  her  dress  felt  too 
tight,  her  mother  was  fretting  over  the  loss  of 
both  pairs  of  spectacles,  Simonson's  men  were 
overrunning  everything,  Mr.  Bludgeon  had  gone 
away  without  more  than  the  scantest  recognition 
9' 


AN   AUTHOR'S    READING 

of  her  personality — so  she  went  up  to  her  bedroom 
and  had  a  hearty,  nervous  cry. 

In  the  Lyceum  Hall  that  afternoon,  wnere  the 
literary  club  met  at  4  P.M.  for  the  "lecture," 
everybody  was  buzzing  over  the  reports  of  the 
Bennetts'  swell  luncheon.  Mrs.  Chauncey  Strat- 
ton,  who  had  insisted  upon  calling  at  the  Dixon 
House  to  fetch  Mr.  Bludgeon  to  the  hall  in  her 
own  carriage,  did  not  arrive  till  too  late  to  hear 
the  gossip.  Just  before  the  solemn  little  man 
stepped  upon  the  platform,  the  great  lady  of 
Sutphen  passed  up  the  middle  aisle,  wearing  a 
bonnet  with  plumes  turning  to  all  points  of  the 
compass,  a  trailing  skirt  of  rich  satin,  a  jet 
cuirass,  and  a  large  bouquet  of  violets  in  the 
bosom  of  her  gown.  Smiling,  nodding  on  all 
sides  with  conscious  pride,  this  patron  of  letters 
took  her  seat  beside  Mrs.  Mark  Grindstone. 

"Seems  to  me  you've  'picked  up'  since  lunch 
time,"  observed  that  lady,  in  her  customary 
muffled  tones. 

"I  do  feel  better,"  said  Mrs.  Stratton,  unable 
to  cease  bowing,  although  in  conversation  with 
her  friend.  "So  you  were  at  poor  Cornelia's 
little  affair?  Do  tell  me  how  it  went  off." 

"Six  courses — three   wines — the  whole   thing 
served  by  Simonson — couldn't  have  been  better 
done,"  answered  Mrs.  Grindstone,  lightly. 
93 


AN  AUTHOR'S   READING 

"Simonson?"     The  shot  had  gone   home. 

"Mr.  Bludgeon  was  most  agreeable.  He  par- 
ticularly noticed  the  table  service,  and  seemed 
so  pleased,"  went  on  Mrs.  Grindstone,  who  had  a 
long  score  to  settle.  ' 'But  hush !  Here  he  comes. 
What  do  you  suppose  he  is  going  to  read?" 

"Didn't  you  see  the  program?"  asked  Annetta 
in  a  chilly  tone.  "It  was  settled  with  me,  by 
letter.  In  fact  I  selected  the  extracts  from  his 
own  works,  and  it  will  be  sure  to  be  satisfactory 
to  all." 

We  pass  over  the  somewhat  subduing  effect 
upon  a  large  mixed  audience,  alien  to  him  by 
birth  and  training,  of  the  Englishman's  recital 
of  his  own  gems  of  thought.  The  usual  frost 
accompanying  this  species  of  entertainment  was 
deepened  while  his  tragic  scenes  and  interludes 
were  rehearsed  successively.  Some  members  of 
the  Club  were  rash  enough  to  whisper  between 
themselves  that  the  entertainment  wasn't  worth 
the  appropriation  from  their  treasury  required  to 
meet  its  cost. 

During  the  "tea"  with  introductions,  that 
followed,  Mrs.  Stratton  again  rose  to  the  occasion. 
As  the  fairy  godmother  of  Genius  she  was  im- 
mense. But  Genius  remained  from  first  to  last 
unsmiling.  Life  was  real,  life  was  earnest  to 
him  during  that  episode  of  American  homage. 

93 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING 

Seated  at  Mrs.  Stratton's  right  hand,  at  dinner 
in  her  pleasant  dining-room,  Mr.  Bludgeon,  in 
evening  dress,  unfolding  his  napkin,  looked 
almost  amiable.  When  he  caught  sight  of  the 
soup  plate  succeeding  the  one  on  which  his 
oysters  had  been  served,  his  face  actually  ex- 
panded into  a  smile. 

"Very  nice,  very  nice,  upon  my  word,"  he 
said,  indicating  the  object  before  him  with  a 
condescending  wave  of  his  hand.  "I  had 
always  been  told  you  Americans  do  things  in 
very  lavish  style,  but,  this,  really,  is  more  than 
I  could  have  expected,  don't  you  know?" 

Annetta  was  radiant,  although  she  could  not 
exactly  understand  why  her  guest's  gratitude  for 
courtesy  extended  took  this  form.  Evidently 
Simonson's  china,  silver,  roses,  bonbons,  decora- 
tions, were  on  a  scale  surpassing  anything  in 
Bludgeon's  previous  experience  of  America. 
She  felt  she  could  afford  then  and  there  to  for- 
give Cornelia  Bennett  for  having  had  Simonson 
for  lunch. 

The  dinner,  rather  a  weight  upon  the  Sut- 
phenites,  dragged  heavily  along,  but  it  ended  at 
last,  and  after  coffee  and  cigars  (Simonson's 
cigars!)  the  gentlemen  rejoined  the  ladies  in  the 
drawing-room. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say,"  explained  Mrs.  Stratton 

94 


AN   AUTHOR'S    READING 

to  her  guest-in-chief,  "that  as  we  in  Sutphen 
keep  rather  early  hours,  the  reception  given  for 
you  at  my  friend  Mrs.  Grindstone's  will  have 
already  begun.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grindstone  left 
some  time  ago,  with  apologies  to  you.  It  is  too 
bad  that  we  should  have  to  deprive  ourselves  of 
you ;  but  I  hope  you  will  not  quite  forget  our 
home  and  our  little  efforts  to  be  agreeable." 

"No,  I  shall  not,  by  George,"  exclaimed  the 
author,  who  had  become  a  trifle  more  relaxed ; 
"and  when  I  tell  them  at  home  about  it,  they 
will  hardly  believe  me,  don't  you  know!" 

This  put  the  apex  upon  Mrs.  Stratton's  pyra- 
mid of  joy.  In  her  own  carriage,  the  author 
seated  beside  her,  facing  her  husband  and  Cor- 
nelia Bennett,  they  drove  to  Mrs.  Grindstone's 
house  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 

The  most  novel  revelation  of  Mrs.  Grind- 
stone's party,  at  first  sight,  was  that  all  the  gas 
jets  in  the  house  were  lighted  and  blazing — 
reckless  of  the  monthly  gas  bill.  This  was  some- 
thing unprecedented,  as  also  the  cloak-room 
(Simonson's  invention),  the  white-capped  maids 
(Simonson's),  and  the  four  pieces  of  music  hidden 
by  Simonson  in  a  bower  of  palms  on  the  stair- 
Way.  Only  the  familiar  stooping  figure  of  old 
Mr.  Grindstone  in  his  worn  frock  coat  with  a 
large  new  white  silk  tie,  brought  the  public  to  a 
95 


AN  AUTHOR'S   READING 

realizing  sense  of  where  they  were.  If  Simonson 
could  have  tucked  away  the  host  into  the  hall 
closet,  along  with  superfluous  wraps,  umbrellas, 
and  old  overshoes,  that  functuary  would  have 
been  very  much  relieved. 

Mrs.  Grindstone,  on  the  contrary,  who  might 
always  be  reckoned  upon  to  come  out  strong  in 
the  matter  of  finery,  wore  a  brave  new  gown  of 
black  silk  and  net,  upon  which  had  been  let  loose 
a  whole  collection  of  green  beaded  butterflies. 
The  splendor  of  this  reality  at  once  effaced  the 
tradition  of  the  velvet  cloak.  Mrs.  Grindstone's 
flaxen  gray  hair  strained  to  the  summit  of  her 
head,  was  there  surmounted  by  an  aigrette  of 
green  feathers,  caught  by  a  diamond  brooch. 
Directly  she  saw  her,  Mrs.  Stratton  knew 
why  her  friend  had  hurried  home  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  dinner.  Mrs.  Grindstone  had 
not  been  willing  to  expend  the  first  blush  of 
success  of  such  a  toilette  upon  another  woman's 
entertainment. 

"Isn't  she  splendid?"  whispered  Cornelia.  "No 
such  dressing  has  ever  been  seen  in  Sutphen,  in 
my  time." 

"If  I  didn't  feel  sure  Mr.  Bludgeon  would 
think  it  overdone,"  said  Annetta,  shrugging. 

But  she  was  herself  impressed,  and  greatly. 
The  revolt  of  Cornelia  and  Mrs,  Grindstone  from 
96 


AN  AUTHOR'S   READING 

her  rule;  their  blossoming  forth  with  all  this 
magnificence  of  a  day ;  the  fact  that  they  would 
henceforth  stand  side  by  side  with  her  in  the 
reminiscences  of  how  Sutphen  welcomed  Mr. 
Timothy  Bludgeon  to  its  Literary  bosom,  made 
Annetta  smart.  The  one  consoling  thought  was 
that  Mr.  Bludgeon  had  told  her  his  people  at 
home  would  not  believe  him  when  he  described 
to  them  her  dinner. 

"Now  for  the  fried  oysters  and  ice  cream," 
thought  Mrs.  Chauncey  Stratton  when,  later  on, 
old  Mr.  Grindstone  offered  his  arm  to  her  to  follow 
Mrs.  Grindstone  and  Mr.  Bludgeon  into  supper. 

Here  a  new  surprise — one  greater  than  all  the 
rest — awaited  her.  Little  tables,  an  innovation 
undreamt  of  in  simple  Sutphen,  were  dotting  the 
whole  room.  At  the  chief  one  of  these,  the  two 
leading  couples,  flanked  by  Cornelia  Bennett  and 
Major  Gooch,  were  placed.  In  a  trice,  that 
indefatigable  Simonson  had  begun  the  service 
of  a  supper  in  courses,  closely  resembling  Miss 
Cornelia  Bennett's  lunch. 

Annetta  could  have  cried  with  annoyance. 
Not  only  were  the  dishes,  the  silver,  the  can- 
delabra, and  all  the  rest,  just  what  had  twice 
already  that  day  appeared  before  the  English- 
man— but  the  china — the  imitation  "onion  pat- 
tern"— was  identically  the  same. 
97 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING 

Mr.  Bludgeon,  when  this  latter  fact  became 
manifest  to  his  observation,  smiled  for  the  second 
time  in  Sutphen.  It  was  not,  at  best,  a  gay, 
hilarious,  or  even  a  complaisant  smile;  but  a 
reluctant  smile  of  flattered  vanity  impossible  to 
mistake.  Presently,  when  they  called  upon  him 
for  a  speech,  he  arose  holding  in  his  hand  a  glass 
of  Simonson's  (American)  champagne.  What 
he  said,  preliminary  to  the  gist  of  his  remarks, 
Mrs.  Stratton  hardly  understood.  Her  brain 
was  tingling  with  vexation,  she  even  snapped  at 
Cornelia  in  an  undertone,  and  fairly  turned  the 
cold  shoulder  on  Mrs.  Grindstone.  When  she 
could  at  last  control  herself  sufficiently  to  be 
able  to  listen,  the  author  had  reached  the  climax 
of  his  sentences,  and  Mrs.  Stratton  was  reward- 
ed for  all  her  labors  in  behalf  of  the  Literary 
Club,  by  hearing  this : 

"Before  I  came  to  this  country,"  said  the 
solemn  little  man,  "I  may  have  had  doubts  about 
American  hospitality.  Since  visiting  Sutphen 
especially,  I  have  none  remaining.  You  are  the 
most  gracious  hosts  in  the  world.  As  an  in- 
stance of  this  fact,  I  shall  always  cite  my  unpar- 
alleled experience  to-day.  At  the  luncheon  of 
your  Secretary,  the  amiable  lady  who  sits  at  the 
table  with  me  here,  pleased  me  with  her  china 
service;  I  happened  to  tell  her  it  reminded  me 
98 


AN   AUTHOR'S   READING 

of  home.  What  was  my  surprise  and  gratifica- 
tion to  find  that  your  accomplished  President,  at 
whose  house  I  was  dining  a  few  hours  later  on — 
to  whom  no  doubt  my  remark  had  been  repeated 
— had  at  such  very  short  notice  managed  to  dupli- 
cate the  set  of  china  I  had  commended.  And 
now,  again,  what  can  I  say?  Words  indeed  fail 
me,  when  at  the  hospitable  board  of  your  admira- 
ble Treasurer,  I  find  a  third  set  of  my  favorite  por- 
celain. The  resources  of  you  Americans  really 
do  surprise  me.  Such  a  compliment,  so  con- 
ceived, so  carried  out,  has  never  been  paid  to 
me,  before.  Need  I  say  that  it  goes  to  my  in- 
most—" 

Mr.  Bludgeon  stopped.  He  had  heard  a 
giggle  of  hilarity  that  could  no  longer  be  re- 
pressed. The  company,  among  whom  Simonson 
and  his  belongings  had  of  course  been  under  free 
discussion  ever  since  they  had  sat  down  to  the 
tables,  fairly  exploded  with  delight. 

Mr.  Bludgeon  hemmed,  hawed,  colored — 
finally  took  his  seat.  Mrs.  Stratton  hastily  left 
the  room.  Mrs.  Grindstone  and  Miss  Bennett, 
sat  on,  mute,  unrevealing  as  two  Sphinxes — but 
evidently  not  offended  beyond  hope  of  recovery. 

Some  time  after  Mr.   Bludgeon's  visit  to  Sut- 
phen  had  begun  to    pass  into   tradition,    poor 
99 


AN  AUTHOR'S   READING 

Simonson's  establishment  in  Main  Street  was 
shut  up.  He  had  dragged  along  for  some  time ; 
but,  lacking  customers,  finally  decided  to  pack 
up  his  onion-pattern  china,  and  the  rest,  and  had 
emigrated  to  a  more  promising  field  for  a  cater- 
er's operations.  The  day  of  his  great  success 
had  proved  his  Waterloo. 

Mrs.  Grindstone  is  now  the  President  of  the 
Sutphen  Literary  Club — vice  Mrs.  Chauncey  Strat- 
ton  resigned  and  gone  abroad.  Miss  Bennett  is 
still  the  Secretary.  Mr.  Grindstone's  gas  bills 
remain  reasonably  low. 


100 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S   PRIDE 


LEANDER  OF  BETSY'S  PRIDE 


The  close  of  a  long,  bright  summer's  day  at 
one  of  the  Virginian  watering-places  found  a  little 
party  of  young  people,  most  of  them  from  the 
North,  importuning  jolly  old  Dick  Ross  (an  off- 
spring of  the  soil,  and  imbued  with  its  traditions 
as  an  orange-flower  is  with  scent)  to  tell  them 
"stories." 

Ross,  a  tall,  high-stepping,  grizzled  veteran, 
who  had  come  out  of  the  civil  strife  a  Brigadier- 
General  of  Confederate  Volunteers,  and  the  hero 
of  a  hundred  daring  adventures  about  which  he 
kept  close  as  an  oyster,  was  considered  by  the 
bevy  who  now  surrounded  him  the  best  boon  of 
their  visit  to  the  South.  But  for  General  Ross 
it  had  been  passing  dull  at  the  staid  old  moun- 
tain spa,  whither  their  respective  families  had 
journeyed  for  health  and  pleasure.  Evening 
after  evening,  after  they  had  danced  together  in 
the  moldering  old  drawing-room,  or  played  cards 
around  a  rickety  table,  seated  in  shabby  chairs 
of  defaced  mahogany  with  ancient  haircloth 
103 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S   PRIDE 

seats,  or  yawned  because  there  was  nothing  else 
to  do,  the  apparition  of  the  General's  lean  figure 
strolling  into  their  hall  of  pleasures  had  been 
hailed  with  delight.  Through  him  the  visitors 
had  become  familiar  with  habits,  customs,  and 
incidents  of  a  bygone  generation,  in  a  commun- 
ity as  foreign  to  their  own  modes  of  thought  as 
if  it  had  been  geographically  remote,  like  Russia 
or  the  golden  India.  And  on  his  side  Ross  never 
realized  what  a  tremendously  old  fogy  he  had 
become  till  he  saw  the  impersonal  nature  of  the 
approval  expressed  of  him  and  his  narrations  in 
the  eyes  of  that  pretty  Puritan,  little  Miss 
Eunice  Hall  of  Boston. 

She  was  a  scion  of  a  famous  abolition  tree. 
Her  progenitors  had  fought  to  the  death  against 
Ross  and  his  fellow-Virginians,  and  had  tri- 
umphed loftily  over  the  eternal  downfall  of  the 
slave  aristocracy  in  the  crash  of  war.  True,  her 
brother  Angus,  named  for  the  sturdy  represen- 
tative of  their  line  who  had  done  most  mischief 
to  the  South,  showed  but  a  homeopathically 
diluted  remnant  of  his  ancestor's  spirit  in  this 
respect.  He  had  but  a  dim  general  idea  of  the 
part  his  grandsire  had  played  in  the  Senate  of 
the  United  States  before  the  war,  and  was  rather 
bored  when  accosted  about  it  by  strangers.  He 
was  more  interested  in  his  yacht,  in  golf,  and  in 
104 


LEANDER   OF   BETSY'S   PRIDE 

University  boat-races  than  in  musty  discussions 
and  wrangles  about  the  right  of  men  to  hold  their 
brother  men  enslaved. 

Eunice  was  different.  Lately,  since  she  had 
come  to  womanhood,  it  had  been  her  "fad"  to 
unearth  every  item  concerning  this  mighty  ques- 
tion that  had  rent  asunder  for  a  time  the  great 
country  she  revered.  Since  her  mamma  had 
elected  to  take  a  cure  at  a  placid  Virginian  water- 
ing-place Eunice  had  found  several  good  oppor- 
tunities to  prosecute  her  researches — but  none, 
on  the  whole,  as  satisfactory  as  those  afforded 
by  General  Richard  Ross. 

The  old  bachelor  had  been  absent  for  a  few 
days,  having  ridden  away  astride  of  a  pair  of 
venerable  saddle-bags  on  a  fiery,  half-broken 
colt  to  visit  some  kinsfolks  of  whom  he  vaguely 
spoke  as  residing  "up  in  the  country."  Now, 
on  his  return  to  the  "Old  Blue,"  as  these 
springs  were  generically  termed,  General  Ross 
consumed  a  hasty  supper,  endued  himself  in  a 
suit  of  spotless  white  duck,  brushed  his  back 
hair  well  to  the  front,  and  stepped  into  the  par- 
lor, where  he  knew  the  young  ladies  were  to  be 
found.  He  was  received  as  a  hero  come  home 
from  the  wars. 

"We  have  stagnated  since  you  left,"  said 
Louisa  Stapleton  of  New  York.  "While  Eunice 
105 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S   PRIDE 

filled  up  her  note-book  with  yarns  of  your  skir- 
mishing, there  has  been  nothing  for  the  rest  of 
us  to  do." 

"I  am  too  much  honored,"  said  the  General, 
bowing  to  Miss  Hall,  hand  on  heart.  "But  have 
there  been  no  new  arrivals,  no  younger  men  to 
push  me  into  the  background?" 

"Only  one  newcomer,"  said  Eunice,  making 
place  for  him  on  a  rusty  sofa. 

"And  he  a  foreigner,  ailing  and  married," 
added  Louisa,  disdainfully.  "Who  but  Eunice 
would  have  looked  twice  at  that  old  fossil  with 
one  foot  in  the  grave?" 

"He  interested  me,  I  don't  know  why,"  con- 
fessed Miss  Hall.  "I  met  him  first  walking  in 
Chinquepin  Hollow,  his  head  sunk  on  his  breast, 
talking  to  himself.  I  thought  I  never  saw  such 
a  wreck  of  a  handsome  man.  And  his  eyes, 
when  he  fixed  them  on  me  in  passing,  burned 
like  live  coals." 

Old  Dick  started  irrepressibly. 

"He — you  met — oh,  impossible!  Gad,  I  be- 
lieve I'm  possessed  by  one  idea.  A  foreigner, 
you  say — traveling  with  his  wife?" 

"Yes;  they  stopped  here  but  a  day,  to  take 

the  evening  train.     As  it  happened,  they  had  the 

room  next  to  mine,  on  the  upper  gallery;  and  as 

our    windows,    opening    at    the    floor,    almost 

1 06 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S   PRIDE 

touched,  I  heard  them  speaking  to  each  other  in 
French  in  a  very  excited,  agitated  way.  Fear- 
ing I  might  overhear  what  was  not  intended  for 
my  ear,  I  got  up  and  stepped  out  upon  the  gal- 
lery. Immediately  there  was  silence,  and  a 
long,  emaciated  hand,  like  yellow  wax,  drew  in 
their  shutters  close  together." 

A  burst  of  laughter  followed  this  narration. 

"Trust  Eunice  for  hatching  mystery,"  said 
Louisa,  laughing.  "I  saw  the  couple  getting 
into  the  stage  to  go  to  the  station :  he,  a  prosaic 
invalid,  his  head  wrapped  in  a  silk  muffler;  she,  a 
dumpy  little  French  woman,  perfectly  common- 
place. Come,  General  Ross,  have  you  not 
brought  back  to  us  from  your  travels  a  new 
story?" 

"Something  that  happened  before  the  war,  in 
a  nice,  gone-to-seed  family,"  added  Louisa's 
younger  sister,  Blanche.  "And  pray  let  the 
house  have  wainscoting  and  a  secret  chamber." 

"No,  no;  something  real.  A  war  story,"  said 
young  Harry  Lemist,  who  had  a  thirst  for  active 
movement  and  little  imagination. 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  the  General,  when  they 
allowed  him  to  reply,  "I  am  almost  afraid  to  tell 
you  what  occurred  in  the  room  I  slept  in  night 
before  last,  for  fear  you  will  think  I  have  trumped 
it  up  to  answer  Miss  Blanche's  requisition." 
107 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S   PRIDE 

"How  awfully  jolly,"  exclaimed  Louisa  Staple- 
ton,  pulling  out  the  fringe  of  curls  upon  her 
forehead. 

"It  was  nothing  of  the  kind,  Miss  Stapleton. 
In  point  of  fact  it  was  about  as  disagreeable  an 
experience  as  I  remember.  But  to  tell  the  tale 
connectedly  I  shall  have  to  go  back  many,  many 
years,  to  the  time  when  the  old  mansion  that 
shelteied  me  night  before  last  was  in  its  prime 
of  hospitable  attraction  for  every  one  that  strayed 
within  its  gates.  About  a  day's  ride  from  here 
is  'Betsey's  Pride,'  for  by  this  quaint  appellation 
is  still  known  the  house  built  for  his  young  wife 
by  a  wealthy  Virginian  land-owner,  just  before 
this  century  came  in." 

"Not  old  enough  by  half,"  exclaimed 
Blanche,  pouting. 

"Truth  will  out,  however,"  answered  the  nar- 
rator, accustomed  to  lawless  interruptions.  "It 
is  a  fine  old  house  built  like  Lee's  birthplace, 
Stratford,  in  the  form  of  a  letter  H.  The  cross 
of  the  H  is  a  large  salon,  now  absolutely  bare  of 
furniture.  At  the  juncture  of  each  wing  with  the 
house  arises  a  pile  of  chimneys,  serving  to  sup- 
port a  pavilion  on  the  roof,  where  in  old  days  a 
darky  band  used  to  play  for  the  gentry,  of  an 
evening.  There  was  a  fish-pond  up  there,  too, 
in  my  boyhood ;  and  there  still  is,  at  the  back  of 
1 08 


LEANDER   OF   BETSY'S   PRIDE 

the  house,  an  old  ruined  garden.  When  a  lad 
I  loved  nothing  better  than  a  visit  in  vacation  to 
'Betsey's  Pride.'  The  oldest  son  of  this  house 
was  my  chum  at  the  University,  and  also  a  kins- 
man, though  remote.  We  will  call  him,  for 
dramatic  purposes,  Llewellyn  Chester.  Chester 
was  always  a  handsome,  easy-going,  free-handed 
fellow,  brought  up  to  consider  himself  the  master 
of  abundant  means.  His  people  gave  him  the 
best  education  of  the  times,  and  in  due  course 
sent  him  to  travel  abroad,  attended  only  by  the 
'boy,'  who  in  old  Virginian  fashion  had  been 
told  off  at  a  very  tender  age  from  among  the 
slaves  to  wait  on  him.  Leander  Jameson  was 
the  'boy's'  name.  Smile  if  you  will,  young  ladies, 
but  gentle  and  simple,  white  and  colored,  we  Vir- 
ginians always  relish  fine-sounding  names. 
Leander  was  a  very  light  mulatto,  tall,  erect, 
manly,  good-looking  as  his  master,  and  of  aston- 
ishing versatility  of  talent.  He  could  sing, 
whistle,  impersonate  any  one  on  the  plantation, 
was  an  adept  in  athletic  exercises,  and  had,  as 
we  said,  the  manners  of  a  prince.  Chester, 
dependent  on  him  for  so  many  long  years  for 
companionship,  treated  him  with  lavish  indul- 
gence and  generosity.  While  they  were  in  Paris, 
where  Leander  was,  of  course,  received  as  an 
equal  by  his  class  among  the  whites,  Chester 
109 


LEANDER    OF   BETSY'S    PRIDE 

had  him  take  lessons  in  singing,  dancing,  fencing, 
and  the  like;  filled  his  pockets  with  money,  and 
turned  him  loose  upon  what,  as  it  seems,  was  a 
very  wild  career  for  both  of  them. 

"When,  a  few  years  before  the  war  broke  out, 
I  again  visited  'Betsey's  Pride,'  it  was  to  see 
a  woeful  change  in  the  circumstances  of  the 
returned  prodigal,  my  cousin.  Chester's  parents 
had  died,  his  sisters  had  lived  on  there  in  seclu- 
sion, little  knowing  that  his  extravagance  had 
wasted  all  his  own  and  involved  their  substance. 
When  he  finally  turned  up  again,  like  a  bad 
penny,  at  their  home,  it  was  to  linger  a  few 
months  and  die.  In  his  last  illness  poor  Llewel- 
lyn was  nursed  by  Leander  as  no  one  else  could 
have  nursed  him.  Such  fidelity,  tenderness! 
Well,  it's  not  of  that  I  started  out  to  tell.  Llew 
Chester  under  the  cedars  of  the  family  burying- 
ground,  his  sisters  had  to  hear  that  they  were 
ruined  in  fortune.  But,  then  or  since,  those 
two  women  would  never  hear  a  word  said  against 
*poor  Llew.' 

"Here  comes  in, •'  went  on  the  General, 
doughtily,  "a  chapter  fortunately  not  common 
among  the  slave-holding  families  of  those  days. 
As  the  negroes  on  large  plantations  went  on 
multiplying  and  exacting  care  and  outlay,  the 
revenues  of  their  owners  were  naturally  con- 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S   PRIDE 

sumed.  But  it  was  part  of  our  religion  to  hold 
fast  to  the  trust  committed  to  us  by  our  fathers. 
Nothing  but  dire  want  ever  made  a  Virginian  of 
'the  real  sort'  part  with  a  slave  for  money. 
When  dire  want  came,  so  much  the  worse  for 
slave  and  master.  It  was  "a  degradation  that 
bowed  down  the  seller  to  the  earth  with  shame — 
to  have  to  part  with  these  people  of  our  black 
families.  If  anybody  ever  tells  you  to  the  con- 
trary, Miss  Eunice,  send  him  to  me  to  be 
convinced." 

The  General,  growing  red  in  the  face,  winked, 
gulped,  got  up  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
room,  tugged  at  his  mustache,  then  sat  down. 

"I  suppose  none  of  you  ever  heard  of  the  char- 
acter as  much  avoided  in  the  society  of  decent 
men  with  us  as  the  headsman  is  in  France — the 
negro  broker  and  trader.  But  there  he  was, 
often  growing  fat  and  rich  on  the  proceeds  of 
his  horrid  business;  and,  like  the  headsman, 
when  occasion  demanded  he  turned  up.  Chester 
had  slighted  in  public  one  of  the  most  formidable 
of  this  fraternity,  a  man  named  Israel  Johns,  a 
sullen  bully,  who  laid  up  the  slight  in  silence  and 
bided  his  time  for  revenge. 

"As  it  happened,  Johns's  opportunity  did  not 
come  till  the  breath  had  left  his  enemy's  body. 
When  it  was  known  that  the  Misses  Chester 


LEANDER   OF   BETSY'S   PRIDE 

would  be  forced  to  part  with  all  of  their  'likely' 
black  people,  in  order  to  pay  the  debts  of  the 
estate  and  live,  the  deepest  feeling  was  every- 
where shown  for  the  pair.  My  own  mother  went 
a  two  days'  journey  on  horseback  to  weep  with 
them.  Remember,  the  oversupply  of  slaves  in 
Virginia  made  their  buyers  very  particular  to 
select  the  best,  and  it  was  therefore  much  feared 
by  the  friends  of  the  family  that  the  first  man  to 
go  off  would  be  Leander  Jameson." 

''His  master's  friend — intimate!  Oh,  infa- 
mous! I  would  have  starved  first!"  cried  out 
Eunice,  a  red  spot  glowing  in  either  cheek. 

"God  knows  I  think  so,  too,  Miss  Eunice," 
said  the  old  soldier,  bowing  his  head  sadly. 
"But  that  such  things  were  was  part  of  our  bur- 
den and  our  curse. 

"A  number  of  us,"  he  went  on  presently,  "old 
friends  and  neighbors,  met  together  and  made  a 
purse  to  buy  in  Leander  for  the  estate.  But 
we  were  tricked — outbidden — overruled.  The 
man  who  got  him  was,  as  you  may  surmise,  none 
other  than  Israel  Johns.  We  learned  afterward 
that  Johns  said  he  would  own  that  nigger  if  it 
took  every  cent  he  had.  I  can  see  him  now,  the 
dirty  blackguard !  A  middle-sized,  low-browed, 
swart,  powerful  fellow,  dark  as  a  Spaniard,  with 
thick  lips,  curly  black  hair,  and  black,  shifty 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S    PRIDE 

eyes  that  couldn't  look  you  in  the  face.  It  was 
at  the  county  court-house  on  New  Year's  Day 
where  the  auction  had  taken  place.  When 
Leander  found  out  who  had  become  his  owner 
his  eyes  glared  like  a  savage  animal's.  I  never 
saw  a  handsome  young  face  so  transformed  by 
rage  and  despair.  A  man  who  stood  next  to  me 
said  carelessly,  'By'Jove!  it's  he  that  looks  like 
the  master,  and  Johns  like  the  man,  I  am  think- 
ing.' 

"1  will  pass  over  the  feelings  of  all  concerned 
when,  in  a  few  days,  we  heard  that  Johns  had 
started  for  New  Orleans  to  sell  his  prize  to  the 
highest  bidder.  I  for  one  do  not  enjoy  analyses 
of  human  emotion  under  stress.  When  you 
know  that  Chester  had  promised  to  free  Leander 
in  order  to  enable  the  fellow  to  go  back  and 
marry  a  Creole  girl  from  Martinique  whom  he 
had  met  in  Paris,  and  had  died  without  doing  so, 
you  see  how  the  affair  stood.  What  followed  is 
well  known  to  many  persons.  Johns  flaunted 
down  to  New  Orleans  with  his  chattel ;  and  on 
the  way  Leander  conceived  one  of  the  most  dar- 
ing schemes  that  was  ever  carried  out  to  a  suc- 
cessful ending.  He  managed  to  get  his  master 
drunk,  and  on  arriving  at  New  Orleans  to  actu- 
ally sell  him  for  a  thousand  dollars  to  a  buyer 
before  whom  Leander  had  posed  as  a  Virginian 
"3 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S   PRIDE 

planter  on  his  travels,  encumbered  with  a  tipsy 
ruffian  he  was  glad  to  dispose  of  cheap. 

"The  complexion,  good  manners,  educated 
voice,  and  easy  diction  of  Leander  made  this 
thing  possible.  Upon  receiving,  as  was  agreed, 
the  money  down,  he  at  once  disappeared ;  and 
he  has  never  been  heard  of  since." 

"And  Johns?  What  became  of  him?"  asked 
the  hearers  in  concert. 

"When  he  came  to  himself  and  found  out  his 
condition  he  fought,  blustered,  was  overcome 
and  held  in  servitude.  Finally  the  law  allowed 
him  to  institute  4a  freedom  suit';  and  after 
many  disappointments  and  delays  he  was  identi- 
fied as  Israel  Johns  by  persons  sent  from  Virginia 
to  New  Orleans  for  that  purpose,  at  Johns's  ex- 
pense. By  the  time  his  freedom  was  secured  and 
he  was  restored  to  his  privileges  as  a  white  citi- 
zen, Leander  Jameson  was  far  beyond  reach  of 
his  vengeance.  But  Johns's  spirit  was  broken, 
and  a  year  later  he  died." 

"Is  all  that  true?"  asked  Eunice  Hall,  who 
had  listened  in  breathless  interest. 

"To  the  best  of  my  belief,  yes;  you  may  see 
certainly  that  the  tale  is  unvarnished  by  me. 
But  as  I  told  you,  it  was  only  the  prelude  to  a 
personal  experience  of  mine  during  the  last  six 
and  thirty  hours.  When,  night  before  last,  I 
114 


LEANDER   OF   BETSY'S   PRIDE 

reached  'Betsey's  Pride'  after  a  long  day  in  the 
saddle,  I  was  kindly  greeted  by  the  two  little 
Miss  Chesters,  who  continue  to  live  there  in  the 
most  ^frugal  way.  War,  that  left  over  their 
heads  the  shell  of  their  father's  mansion,  has 
left  them  but  little  else  besides.  My  visit  was, 
in  rude  fact,  one  of  investigation — to  see  whether 
the  two  ladies  were  supplied  with  the  necessaries 
of  life,  for  which  they  are  too  proud  to  ask  their 
friends.  After  a  meal  and  a  conversation  that  I 
can't  think  of  without  a  feeling  like  a  knife 
thrust  into  the  heart,  they  showed  me  to  my 
room.  It  was,  as  I  at  once  saw,  the  apartment 
in  which  their  brother  Llewellyn  had  breathed 
his  last,  a  cold,  bare  place,  the  arrangement  of 
its  furniture  unchanged  in  all  these  weary  years. 
Through  a  crack  widened  around  the  window- 
frame  ivy  had  shot  into  the  room  and  was  curl- 
ing about  the  inner  sash.  The  Miss  Chesters 
could  not  bear  to  remove  this  vine.  'It  looked 
so  sweet,'  they  said,  'growing  in  poor  Llew's 
room. '  An  old  negro  woman,  who  brought  me 
a  jug  of  spring-water,  hurried  out  as  soon  as  she 
had  deposited  her  burden.  By  the  look  in  her 
face  I  knew  she  believed  the  place  to  contain 
another  presence  than  my  own." 

"Now  we  are  coming  to  the  real  thing!"  ex- 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S   PRIDE 

claimed  light-hearted  Blanche,  clapping  her 
hands  gleefully. 

"It  might  be,  if  I  knew  how  to  dress  it  up  in 
fine  words  at  awesome  intervals;  but  I  can't.  I 
can  just  tell  you  the  simple  truth — that,  awak- 
ening in  the  middle  of  the  night  I  saw,  in  the 
moonlight,  as  plainly  as  I  see  you  now,  the  face 
and  figure  of  Leander  Jameson." 

"Good  gracious!"  cried  Eunice,  sitting  bolt 
upright,  and  fixing  upon  old  Dick  a  fascinated 
gaze. 

"Of  course,  I  had  been  thinking  of  him  and 
his  master  when  I  fell  asleep.  Of  course,  it  was 
an  optical  illusion,"  added  the  old  man.  "I  have 
said  so  to  myself  a  dozen  times  since  it  hap- 
pened." 

"What  did  you  do?  What  did  he  do?"  queried 
the  listeners  in  unison. 

They  could  not  decide  whether  or  not  the  Gen- 
eral was  trying  to  take  them  in.  But  all  the 
same,  the  girls  clutched  at  each  other's  hands, 
and  the  young  men  essayed  to  put  on  an  air  of 
incredulous  superiority  as  they  waited  for  the 
climax. 

"Frankly  speaking,"  said  the  hero  of  many 
fights  with  flesh  and  blood,  "/pulled  the  clothes 
over  my  head.  He  executed  the  usual  'vanish- 
ing act.'  When  I  looked  again  he  was  gone. 
116 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S   PRIDE 

The  only  occupant  of  the  room  beside  myself 
was  a  rat  that  seemed  to  be  dragging  my  boot 
across  the  boards  of  the  floor." 

"Was  the  window  open?" 

"Wide,"  said  the  General;  "and,  as  it  was  the 
usual  French  window  upon  the  ground  floor  of  a 
bachelor's  wing,  nothing  could  have  been  easier 
for  a  ghost  than  to  step  in  and  out  over  the  sill. 
Next  morning  I  examined  the  premises,  but  on 
the  soft  old  green  sward  of  a  century  that  came 
close  to  the  window  outside  found  no  trace  of 
footsteps.  The  birds  were  singing  in  the  very 
room  with  me;  the  warm  sunshine  bathed  its 
every  nook  and  corner.  A  young  heifer,  stray- 
ing up,  looked  as  if  she  meant  to  step  over  the 
threshold,  but  desisted.  There  was  no  trace  or 
filament  of  visitation,  supernatural  or  otherwise. ' ' 

"Naturally,  since  you  dreamed  it,"  said  Mr. 
Harry  Lemist,  convincingly. 

"Naturally,"  said  the  General.  "I,  too, 
made  up  my  mind  to  that  view  of  the  case.  But 
the  whole  thing  was  a  curious  episode.  It 
brought  back  the  details  of  my  poor  friend's  life 
and  death,  and  of  his  valet's  reckless  and  suc- 
cessful stroke  for  freedom.  On  my  ride  back 
here  to-day  I  have  been  recalling  many  instances 
of  the  intercourse  between  Chester  and  Leander 
Jameson — things  I  had  long  forgotten.  One  was 
117 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S   PRIDE 

that,  as  lads,  Chester  had  his  'boy'  learn  tattoo- 
ing of  an  old  sailor  in  the  neighborhood.  The 
first  result  of  his  accomplishment  was  the  shield 
of  Virginia  in  blue  on  Chester's  forearm — 'Stc 
semper  tyrannis*  and  the  rest  of  it,  buried  with 
him,  of  course — while  Leander  carried  through 
life,  on  the  outside  of  his  right  hand,  the  crim- 
son image  of  the  swan  that  is  the  Chester  crest." 

Eunice  Hall,  self-contained  little  being  that 
she  was,  gave  at  this  a  galvanic  start. 

"Why!"  she  exclaimed,  growing  pale  with 
excitement,  "I  have  seen  it — that  hand  marked 
with  a  crimson  swan — only  a  little  while  ago! 
It  was  the  one  thrust  out  to  draw  in  the  shutters 
of  the  Frenchman's  window.  I  noticed  it  par- 
ticularly." 

"By  George — then  it  was  Leander!"  cried  the 
General,  springing  to  his  feet. 

The  best  efforts  of  General  Ross  to  trace  the 
fugitive  and  his  wife  resulted  only  in  finding  that 
they  had  boarded  a  train  bound  northward,  and 
were  by  then  probably  safely  in  New  York,  if 
not,  as  seemed  likely,  on  the  ocean  sailing  back 
to  Leander  Jameson's  adopted  home.  That 
the  ex-slave  had  prospered  in  circumstances  his 
appearance  and  surroundings  left  no  room  to 
doubt.  The  General's  idea  that,  broken  in 
118 


LEANDER   OF  BETSY'S   PRIDE 

health  and  knowing  himself  to  be  a  dying  man, 
Leander  had  not  been  able  to  resist  a  secret  visit 
to  the  scene  of  his  birth  and  of  his  early  tragedy 
was  considered  the  correct  one. 

General  Dick  Ross  still  makes  his  annual  visit 
to  drink  the  waters  of  "Old  Blue. "  The  only 
time  he  has  been  persuaded  to  cross  Mason  and 
Dixon's  line,  to  pursue  his  investigations  of  soci- 
ety, was  for  the  purpose  of  attending  the  mar- 
riage of  Miss  Eunice  Hall,  when  that  charming 
enthusiast  decided  upon  concentrating  her  efforts 
at  reform  of  the  human  race  upon  a  single  unde- 
fended man. 


THE   THREE   MISSES    BENEDICT 
AT  YALE 


THE  THREE  MISSES  BENEDICT 
AT   YALE 


A  heavy  fall  of  snow  upon  the  old  streets  of 
New  Haven  had  not  succeeded  in  blocking  the 
wheels  of  progress  of  that  merriest  season  of  the 
collegiate  year,  known  to  the  university  world  as 
"Prom  Week."  For  three  days  a  crowd  of  fair 
visitors  and  their  chaperons  had  trod  the  round 
of  gayeties;  had  frequented  the  concerts,  ger- 
mans,  teas,  and  receptions;  they  were  now  draw- 
ing breath  and  gathering  energy  for  the  last 
crucial  test  of  physical  endurance,  the  ball  called 
the  Junior  Promenade. 

For,  to  properly  celebrate  this  time-honored 
and  brilliant  affair,  custom  decrees  that  the  list 
of  thirty  or  more  dances  and  intermissions  printed 
upon  the  ball-card  presented  to  each  damsel 
crossing  the  threshold  of  this  hall  of  raptures 
shall,  long  beforehand,  have  been  filled  with 
names  by  the  brother,  cousin,  or  admirer  having 
the  list  in  charge.  It  follows  naturally  that  by 
the  ti.nie  not  only  aJJ  these  dances  are  accora- 

123 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

plished  but  every  "intermission"  has  been  spent 
in  an  impromptu  dance  to  the  music  of  the  band, 
alternating  with  the  orchestra,  night  has  bright- 
ened into  dawn. 

When  the  girls  are  finally  induced  by  their 
exhausted  matrons  to  withdraw  from  the  giddy 
whirl,  they  leave  behind  a  set  of  men,  wild-eyed, 
and  wilted  as  to  shirt-fronts,  cuffs,  and  collars, 
but  undaunted  in  spirit.  These  men,  the  givers 
of  the  ball,  then  go  away  to  their  dormitories  to 
snatch  an  hour  or  two  of  slumber  before  chapel, 
which  has,  not  infrequently,  been  attended  by 
beings  in  ulsters  worn  over  evening  clothes.  It 
was  to  such  tireless  devotees  rather  invigorating 
than  depressing  to  see  snowflakes  come  trooping 
down  upon  the  final  scenes  of  their  three-days' 
gayety.  Toward  nine  o'clock  p.  M.  the  streets 
were  encumbered  by  lumbering  old  hacks  pull- 
ing up  before  doors  to  receive  their  loads  of 
hooded  and  cloaked  figures,  then  driving  with 
them  at  a  furious  pace  to  the  door  of  the  armory 
where  the  "Prom"  is  given,  and  dashing  off 
again  to  secure  new  fares.  The  drivers  of  these 
vehicles,  known  by  name  to  most  of  the  students, 
extend  to  the  university  and  its  doings  an  almost 
parental  indulgence.  To  the  guests  who  are 
aiding  to  make  the  occasion  brilliant  they  are 
suave  beyond  imagination ;  solicitous  of  comfort, 
124 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

descending  from  their  perches  to  open  the  car- 
riage doors,  and  assisting  parlously  at  the  elbow 
of  the  lady  entering  or  getting  out.  Little  of 
the  evening's  fun  is  to  be  theirs,  honest  fellows, 
but  they  are  sustained  through  the  chilly  vigils 
of  the  night  by  esprit  de  corps  and  a  brave  desire 
to  keep  up  the  credit  of  their  town. 

Quite  early  in  the  fray  one  of  these  hacks  dis- 
gorged under  the  armory's  awning  a  party  con- 
sisting'of  a  mother,  two  daughters,  and  a  girl 
cousin,  all  three  of  the  young  women  marked 
with  the  same  general  characteristics  of  family, 
but  differing  in  feature  and  degree  of  beauty. 
The  mother,  a  stout,  comely  body,  with  dia- 
mond butterflies  quivering  about  the  base  of  a 
tall,  black  aigrette  that,  springing  from  her  hair, 
swept  the  carriage  top  as  she  sat,  emerged  with 
a  look  denoting  resolution  to  carry  on  the  strug- 
gle of  spirit  against  flesh  to  the  bitter  end.  For 
was  not  her  only  son,  her  pride  and  joy,  leader 
of  the  revels  as  head  of  the  floor  committee  of 
the  "Prom"?  Not  for  worlds  would  she  have 
given  up  the  wearying  privilege  of  sitting  out  the 
ball.  Never,  in  her  own  palmiest  days,  had  she 
drawn  near,  to  a  scene  of  gayety  with  a  more 
proud  sense  of  identification  than  to-night,  when 
she  shone  in  the  reflected  glory  of  her  handsome 
boy! 

»S 


THE   THREE    MISSES   BENEDICT 

Jack  Benedict  was,  on  his  part,  modest,  as 
becomes  the  truly  great!  An  immense  favorite 
with  his  class,  he  had  been  one  of  those  fellows 
who  sail  serenely  through  college  life,  winning, 
without  apparent  effort,  honors  toiled  for  by 
others  without  success.  A  good  scholar,  an 
athlete  of  renown,  frank,  cordial,  sympathetic, 
he  was  put  forward  by  the  vote  of  his  comrades 
whenever  opportunity  occurred  to  represent 
them  before  the  world;  the  election  to  his  pres- 
ent post  being  upon  one  of  these  occasions. 

Fresh-faced,  clear-eyed,  smiling,  dressed  in 
immaculate  attire,  the  tall  young  hero  advanced 
to  meet  his  mother  and,  giving  her  his  arm,  con- 
ducted the  party  along  the  length  of  the  large 
hall  to  a  box  fitted  up  for  the  friends  of  the  com- 
mittee of  management.  The  girls  following 
them  were  immediately  surrounded  by  a  throng 
of  men,  consulting  their  dance  programmes  and 
receiving  with  pride  their  compliments  upon  the 
charming  arrangements  of  the  hall.  It  had 
already  been  decided  among  the  opinion-makers 
that  the  three  Misses  Benedict  were  the  stars  of 
the  festive  week,  and  their  approbation  of  the 
scene  was  generally  awaited. 

The  vast  inclosure  of  the  armory  was  lined  to 
its  arched  roof  with  breadths  of  semi-transpar- 
ent stuff,  alternatively  pale  lavender  and  yellow 
126 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

in  tint,  giving  it  a  delightfully  fresh  and  blos- 
somy  effect.  From  the  ceiling,  lighted  by  veiled 
electric  bulbs,  depended  a  racing-shell  filled 
with  flowers  and  a  floral  football,  emblems  of 
the  University's  late  prowess  in  the  athletic 
world.  From  high  stands  on  either  side  of  the 
hall  the  band,  or  else  the  orchestra,  clashed 
forth  unceasingly  enlivening  strains.  Beneath 
one  or  the  other  of  these  draped  eyries  were  seen 
to  disappear  during  the  progress  of  the  ball 
panting  and  perspiring  men,  who  went  away 
wilted  after  saltatory  toil — but  returned  arrayed 
in  the  glory  of  fresh  linen,  white  collars,  and 
cuffs  immaculate.  Around  the  walls,  hung  with 
tapestry  and  placques  of  flowers,  were  ranged 
the  boxes  severally  sold  at  auction  to  the  high- 
est bidder  among  the  classmen  who  desired  thus 
proudly  to  extol  the  ladies  of  their  visiting  fam- 
ilies and  parties.  In  these  dainty  nooks  were 
assembled  treasures  from  many  a  college  sitting- 
room.  Easy-chairs,  rugs,  lamps,  draperies, 
tables,  cushions — above  all,  cushions! — of  every 
size,  material,  and  color,  were  brought  hither  by 
their  owners  or  borrowers  from  acquiescent 
friends,  to  make  resting-places  for  the  chaper- 
ons, and,  when  possible,  the  girls. 

The  wide,   crash-covered  floor,  soon  covered 
with  whirling  figures,  became  a  dazzling  kaleid- 
127 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

oscope.  The  suggestion  presented  by  the  sight 
was  one  of  extraordinary  brilliancy  and  light- 
ness. It  was  as  if  the  Genius  of  American  youth 
were  abroad  and  at  his  best.  No  face  there 
that  did  not  gleam  with  happiness,  no  foot  that 
did  not  spring  with  rapturous  life.  Of  those 
encumbrances  of  an  ordinary  ball-room,  the  sad, 
the  sour,  the  world-weary,  the  middle-aged,  none 
was  discernible.  The  young  men  and  maidens 
prominent  in  this  function,  gathered  from  far 
and  near  in  the  broad  Republic,  were  types  of 
blended  races,  or  pure  Americans  such  as  one 
may  hardly  see  elsewhere  in  an  Eastern  festivity ; 
and  the  conventional  uniformity  of  a  dance  in 
New  York,  Boston,  or  Philadelphia  was  thus  most 
agreeably  varied.  And  through  all  was  appar- 
ent to  older  eyes  the  joy  of  living  and  being  that 
comes  only  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  century  of 
life. 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  it,  madre?"  asked 
Benedict,  as  he  stopped  in  his  evening's  toil  to 
bend  affectionately  over  his  mother,  where  she 
sat  in  front  of  the  committee-box,  her  satin  and 
jet  rustling  in  the  breeze  created  by  an  ostrich- 
feathered  fan. 

"Satisfied?  Indeed  I  am!  It  is  a  perfectly 
enchanting  scene,"  said  the  biased  critic.  "And 
your  decorations  are  really  admirable.  I  never 
128 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

saw  such  a  well-managed  dance.  But,  my  dear- 
est boy,  can't  you  sit  down  and  take  a  moment's 
rest?  You  will  really  wear  yourself  out." 

"No  fear  of  that,"  quoth  Jack,  inflating  his 
broad  chest.  "After  to-night  we  shall  all  lapse 
into  'innocuous  desuetude,' and  there'll  be  full 
time  to  repose.  I  hope  you  and  the  other  moth- 
ers can  hold  out.  You  won't  see  much  of  your 
charges,  I'm  afraid." 

Mrs.  Benedict  laughed  cheerily.  "Dear  me, 
no;  they  only  rush  back  to  be  pinned  or  put  to 
rights,  and  are  off  again.  As  to  keeping  the 
faces,  much  less  the  names,  of  their  partners  in 
mind,  I  can't  pretend  to  do  it.  Agnes  and  Mar- 
garet, being  older,  take  it  with  more  composure, 
but  Lou  flies  about  as  if  she  were  on  wings 
instead  of  high  heels.  It  was  a  whim  of  Agnes 
and  Margaret  to  come  dressed  alike  in  those 
blue  "satin  gowns  with  the  chiffon  ruffles,  and  I 
must  say  they  are  becoming.  I  am  proud  of  our 
dear  girls'  looks,  aren't  you?" 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  Jack,  starting  with 
something  of  a  blush  as  she  repeated  this  query. 
He  had  been  straining  his  gaze  over  the  revolv- 
ing crowd,  in  the  effort  to  identify  not  his  sisters, 
Lou  and  Margaret — pretty  blonde  girls  of 
eighteen  and  twenty — but  his  cousin  Agnes,  a 
tall  and  rather  stately  young  woman,  a  year 
129 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

older  than  Margaret,  whom  he  had  his  own  pri- 
vate reasons  for  not  allowing  to  get  far  out  of  his 
sight  or  thoughts. 

Agnes,  the  orphan  daughter  of  a  good-for- 
nothing  cousin  of  Mr.  Benedict's,  had  a  year  or 
two  before,  after  the  death  of  her  father,  been 
taken  by  these  kindly  people  to  reside  under 
their  roof  in  New  York.  When  it  was  Jack  had 
first  owned  to  himself  that  he  loved  her  he  could 
not  exactly  say.  But  her  clear,  pale  beauty,  the 
soft  luster  of  her  hazel  eyes,  her  somewhat  for- 
eign grace  of  speech  and  manner — born  of  wide 
wanderings  in  Continental  cities — had  begun  by 
captivating  his  imagination,  and  ended  by  excit- 
ing his  enthusiastic  affection.  Now  he  thought 
no  vision  of  his  future  was  complete  without 
Agnes  installed  in  its  penetralia.  And  as  yet  she 
had  no  idea  of  it. 

Knowing  that  his  parents  would  disapprove  of 
love-making  between  the  cousins  until  Jack  had 
at  least  been  long  enough  out  of  college  to  see 
his  way  clear  to  an  independence,  he  had  had 
the  rare  strength  of  mind  to  keep  his  passion  to 
himself.  Not  even  his  mother  suspected  what  a 
cable  had  been  thrown  out  to  annex  her  bonny 
craft  to  this  landing-stage  for  life ! 

One  person  only  had  shared  in  his  secret,  and 
he  a  classmate  bound  to  Jack  by  the  most  inti- 
130 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

mate  of  college  ties,  the  man  of  all  others  in  the 
University  whom  Jack  most  admired  and  trusted. 
This  was  Hubert  Russell,  who,  coming  a  stranger 
to  Yale  from  his  birthplace  in  a  far  Western 
town,  had  remained  an  enigma  to  the  many, 
although  treasured  by  the  few  who  had  found 
him  out.  Russell  was  known  as  a  brilliant 
scholar,  but  had  never  been  called  a  "grind. " 
His  isolation  seemed  to  be  a  thing  of  preference. 
To  the  society  of  women  his  objection  was 
apparently  insuperable.  No  threshold  in  the 
hospitable  town  had  been  crossed  by  him  for 
social  purposes.  Jack  Benedict,  who  alone 
seemed  to  exercise  over  him  the  magnetism  that 
drew  him  from  his  shell,  had  often  talked  to  Rus- 
sell about  his  own  family,  and  had  striven  with- 
out success  to  induce  his  friend  to  visit  them  in 
the  holidays.  Russell  had  listened  with  a  sort 
of  fascinated  reserve  to  Benedict's  happy  boyish 
confidences,  but  had  not  responded  to  them  in 
kind  until  one  evening  in  [junior  year  over  their 
pipes  in  Jack's  sitting-room.  Then  he  had 
blurted  out  a  sad  tale  of  his  father's  disgrace 
and  imprisonment  and  death  in  the  penitentiary, 
following  the  embezzlement  of  trust-funds  con- 
fided to  his  keeping.  This  awful  chapter  had 
left  upon  the  boy's  mind  an  indelible  imprint. 
To  remove  the  effect  of  it  his  mother  had  strained 
131 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

every  nerve  to  send  him  to  an  Eastern  Univer- 
sity. At  the  beginning  of  freshman  year  he  had 
lost  his  mother,  too;  and  since  then  the  spell  of 
darkness  had  reassumed  its  sway  over  Hubert 
Russell.  Benedict,  a  wholesome,  happy  fellow, 
born  to  no  great  inheritance  of  riches,  and  hav- 
ing his  own  way  to  hew  in  the  world's  wilder- 
ness, then  set  himself  to  the  task  of  restoring 
Russell's  tone  of  mind  and  of  dissipating  in  him 
the  uncertainty  as  to  his  right  of  place  among 
people  of  unblemished  honor  and  respectability. 
Little  by  little  he  had  succeeded  in  bringing 
about  this  result.  In  his  zeal  to  win  Russell's 
full  confidence  he  had  poured  out  his  own — had 
even  told  him  of  his  love  for  the  radiant  cousin, 
Agnes  Benedict,  whom  Jack  hoped  one  day  to 
win  for  his  wife. 

During  the  past  days  of  gayety  Russell  had 
been  more  miserably  shy  and  reserved  than  ever. 
In  vain  had  Jack  urged  him  to  call  upon  or  make 
acquaintance  with  his  family.  As  a  last  resort 
he  had  gone  to  Russell's  room  that  afternoon, 
and  had  shot  into  the  letter-slit  upon  the  locked 
door  a  note  inclosing  a  ticket  for  the  "Prom," 
begging  Hubert  to  look  in  at  the  ball,  if  only  for 
a  glance  in  passing,  at  Jack's  people  in  their  box. 
While  Jack  now  stopped  to  speak  to  his  mother 
he  saw,  with  curious  elation  and  surprise,  Russell 
132 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

standing  a  little  distance  away,  talking  with  one 
of  the  tutors.  Before  he  had  time  to  beckon  his 
friend,  his  sister  Louisa  and  their  cousin  Agnes 
hurried  together  into  the  box,  forsaking  each 
the  young  man  who  had  escorted  her,  to  have 
some  trifling  repair  to  her  toilette  made  by  Mrs. 
Benedict. 

"Oh,  Jack!"  exclaimed  his  madcap  sister,  "I 
am  too  happy  for  anything,  and  Agnes  should 
be,  if  she  is  not,  for  she  has  evidently  captivated 
the  best-looking  man  in  the  room — next  to  you, 
of  course — that  tall,  dark  one  over  there.  He 
has  done  nothing  but  gaze  after  her  in  a  moony, 
melancholy  way,  while  /  am  dying  to  know 
him.  Do  fetch  him  here  now,  and  introduce  him, 
there's  a  dear.  Only  give  me  half  a  chance  and 
I  can  make  him  forget  Agnes,  I'll  promise  you." 

"That?"  said  Jack,  identifying  at  last  the 
individual  she  was  trying  to  point  out,  and 
watching  for  the  effect  of  his  revelation  upon  his 
family.  "I  am  not  surprised  that  you  want  to 
know  him.  That  is  my  best  friend,  Hubert  Rus- 
sell." 

"Is  that  Russell?"  said  the  three  women  in 
concert.  To  them  he  had  long  been  a  house- 
hold word. 

"Yes,  and  he  came  here  to  please  me,  dear  old 
chap.  The  trouble  is,  I  don't  know  whether 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

he'll  have  the  courage  to  follow  it  up  by  being 
presented  to  you." 

"Lou  does  not  know  why  he  was  so  interested 
in  Agnes — my  Agnes,"  he  added  to  himself, 
striving  to  repress  the  exultation  of  his  heart  as 
he  looked  upon  her  he  loved. 


II 

Jack  did  not  realize  that  his  friend  Russell 
could  have  any  confusion  of  mind  as  to  which  of 
the  three  Misses  Benedict  was  the  cousin  honored 
by  preference  undeclared.  The  fact  was  that 
Hubert  had  strayed  into  the  whirl  of  the  "Prom" 
for,  indeed,  nothing  but  to  please  his  friend.  While 
making  up  his  mind  to  take  his  courage  in  two 
hands  and  seek  for  an  introduction,  Russell  had 
espied,  standing  in  a  set  of  lancers,  a  girl  who 
then  and  there  struck  him  as  his  ideal  of  scarce 
acknowledged  dreams  of  woman's  loveliness. 
So  swift  yet  strong  was  the  impression  thus  re- 
ceived that  Russell  gasped  and  wondered  what 
had  come  over  him.  The  blood  of  young  man- 
hood surging  into  his  temples  showed  him  in  a 
flash  that  he  was  to  the  full  as  weak  as  those  at 
whom  he  had  often  jeered — Jack  Benedict,  for 
example,  whose  ravings  over  his  pretty  cousin 
had  often  made  Russell  smile  with  superiority 
and  amusement.  Whatever  had  been  Russell's 
ambitions  and  hopes  for  the  future,  woman  had 
had  no  part  in  them.  And  yet,  here  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  the  waving  coils  of  a 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

maiden's  loosely  bound  hair,  her  airy  grace,  her 
supple,  slender  waist  and  noble  shoulders  had 
held  him  captive.  When  she  turned  and  he 
saw  that  her  face  was  as  lovely  as  her  form,  Rus- 
sell had  actually  started  to  go  away.  What  evil 
spell  had  fallen  upon  him  to  lure  his  steps  into 
this  place?  He  resented  Jack's  influence, 
secretly  objurgated  Jack's  tiresome  lady-love  and 
sisters,  vowed  he  must  and  would  return  home — 
and  lingered. 

When  the  set  was  over,  and  the  girl  went  off 
with  her  partner,  Russell,  half-ashamed,  asked 
the  college  official  who  had  accosted  him  if  he 
knew  who  was  the  young  lady  in  pale  blue  with 
a  small  wreath  of  white  roses  perched  sidewise 
upon  her  hair. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  the  flattered  tutor,  squint- 
ing his  eyes  to  take  in  the  receding  figure. 
"Isn't  that — yes,  of  course  it  is — a  sister  of  Ben- 
edict's? I  met  them  yesterday  at  Mrs.  Clark- 
son's  tea.  But  you  ought  to  know  Benedict's 
people  better  than  I  do,  Russell." 

"You  know  I  am  a  recluse,"  said  Russell, 
coloring. 

"Then  I  advise  you  to  repair  neglected  oppor- 
tunities  and   make   their  acquaintance   on   the 
spot.      There's    another    one — a    little,    jolly, 
laughing  girl,  and  a  cousin — not  so  good-looking 
136 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

by  a  long  shot,  but  nice  manners  and  intelli- 
gent. Decidedly,  Benedict's  party  has  lent  lus- 
ter to  the  week." 

Before  Mr.  Grampion  had  finished  his  chuckling 
remarks  Russell  had  melted  away  from  him,  and 
stood  alone,  irresolute.  In  this  attitude  he  was 
overhauled  by  Benedict,  who,  breathless,  laid  a 
hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Here  you  are,  you  old  fraud;  come  along 
and  be  presented  to  my  mother.  She  is  all 
anxiety  to  meet  you.  Expects  you  to  have  wings 
and  a  harp,  from  my  description.  And  the  girls 
are,  luckily,  all  in  the  box  for  a  minute's  breath- 
ing spell.  I  call  this  kind,  Russell,  for  you  to 
turn  up  here  after  all,  and  I'll  not  forget  it  in  a 
hurry. ' ' 

Russell,  having  no  alternative,  rushed  blindly 
upon  his  fate.  How  could  he  tell  Benedict  that 
he  had  already,  without  reason,  without  excuse, 
fallen  in  love  with  Jack's  beautiful  sister,  and 
knew  that  the  better  part  of  wisdom  was  to  retire 
from  the  fray  before  matters  should  get  worse. 
He  walked,  dream-like,  beside  his  friend,  went 
through  the  ceremony  of  introduction  to  Jack's 
mother,  received  a  kind  hand-shake  from  Mrs. 
Benedict,  and  scarcely  venturing  to  look  up, 
heard  Jack  say: 

"Mr.  Russell,  my  sisters,  my  cousin — all  Miss 


THE  THREE   MISSES  BENEDICT 

Benedicts;  so  you  will  have  no  trouble  in  know- 
ing how  to  address  them." 

Jack's  voice  thrilled  with  affection  for  his 
friend.  Russell's  fingers  clasped  in  succession 
three  gloved  right  hands.  He  knew  by  intuition 
when  he  touched  those  of  the  girl  whose  charm 
had  enthralled  him  and,  looking  her  full  in  the 
eyes,  met  in  return  a  glance  of  gentle  approba- 
tion. 

**  Jack  has  cried  me  in  their  market  better  than 
I  knew,"  he  thought,  gratefully.  By  the  imme- 
diate departure  of  the  other  two  young  ladies  in 
answer  to  the  inspiriting  strains  of  the  "Wash- 
ington Post,"  set  to  a  two-step,  together  with 
Jack's  flight  in  search  of  his  own  partner,  Rus- 
sell found  himself  for  a  moment  alone  with  the 
Miss  Benedict  he  most  admired. 

"I  am  not  detaining  you?"  he  asked,  ner- 
vously. 

"Not  at  all.  In  fact,  I  am  stranded  upon 
your  hands.  My  idea  is  that  the  man  I  prom- 
ised this  dance  to  is  fainting  somewhere  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  crowd.  When  I  saw  him  last  he 
was  already  pumped,  and  supper  not  yet  served," 
she  answered,  laughing. 

"I  hope  they  will  not  revive  him,"  said  Rus- 
sell, yielding  for  once  to  the  temptation  of  the 
hour. 

138 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

Back  of  the  committee  box  was  a  little  room 
set  apart  for  wraps  and  t$te-a-t£tes,  into  which 
he  had  the  hardihood  to  invite  his  companion  to 
retire,  hoping  thus  to  seclude  her  from  the  obser- 
vation of  her  tardy  dancer. 

"Yes,  do  go;  I  shan't  tell,"  said  Mrs.  Bene- 
dict, smiling  approval.  "The  little  rest  will  do 
you  good,  and  I  know  Jack  will  think  well  of 
your  change  of  comrades." 

Thus  everything  conspired  to  bring  closer 
around  poor  Russell  the  net  he  had  not  sought 
to  weave.  Sitting  back  among  the  cloaks  and 
hats,  with  the  music  floating  in  to  them  in  soft- 
ened cadence,  he  could  feast  his  eyes  upon  the 
beauty  that  had  ensnared  him.  Her  talk,  bright, 
friendly,  unaffected,  girlish,  was  exactly  calcu- 
lated to  win  him  from  his  habitual  attitude  of 
reserve.  He  found  himself  pouring  out  upon 
her  ear  the  stream  of  strong  original  thought  and 
language  which  had  first  made  Jack  Benedict  his 
ardent  admirer.  She,  in  turn,  felt  a  sense  of 
pleasure  and  bedazzlement  in  this  man's  society 
that  she  had  never  known  before.  All  Jack  had 
said  of  Hubert  Russell  was  more  than  confirmed 
by  her  talk  with  him ;  and  before  the  brief  period 
of  their  isolation  was  ended,  something  of  the 
same  everyday  marvel  worked  upon  him  by  her 
was  accomplished  in  her  gentle  breast  by  him. 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

A  tremor  of  admiration,  of  preference  for  his 
society,  ran  through  her  veins.  She  asked 
herself  timorously  what  should she  do  if  she  never 
met  him  again;  why  fate  had  been  so  long  in 
granting  to  her  this  experience  of  delight! 

An  invasion  of  young  men  (the  missing  part- 
ner, full  of  apologies  for  the  accident  of  his 
detention,  and  the  man  to  whom  the  next  inter- 
mission was  promised)  broke  up  their  t£te-a-tete. 
Russell  hardly  believed  his  good  fortune  when 
she  said,  in  a  vexed  aside: 

"There,  now,  they  have  spoiled  the  best  of 
the  evening  for  me.  I  am  sure  we  shall  have  no 
other  chance  to  talk." 

"You  are  going  to-morrow?"  he  murmured, 
trying  to  seem  indifferent. 

"Yes,  at  eleven.  lam  so  sorry,"  she  answered 
in  the  same  vein  of  restrained  feeling. 

"I  must  see  you  once  more,"  he  said,  briefly — 
then  drew  within  himself,  frightened  at  his  own 
audacity. 

After  that  he  watched  her  from  afar,  not  being 
able  to  bring  himself  to  join  the  throng  of  chat- 
terers who  surrounded  her  in  the  intervals  of 
dancing  or  at  supper  time.  Once  only,  Jack, 
running  upon  him,  paused  under  the  weight  of 
official  cares  to  say,  brightly: 

"You  took  to  them,  then?  My  people,  I  mean.'' 
140 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

"I  should  say  I  did.  They  are  all  delightful, 
and  your  sister,  Jack,  is — well — " 

"Which  sister?"  interrogated  his  friend,  mer- 
rily. 

"I  actually  do  not  know,"  said  Russell,  shame- 
facedly. "But  she  wears  blue  and  has  a  wreath 
of  white  roses." 

"That's  my  sister  Margaret.  Do  you  know  I 
always  had  an  idea  that  you  would  hit  it  off  with 
Margaret.  She  doesn't  let  herself  out  to  every- 
body by  any  means.  But,  Hubert,  you  might 
say  one  word  for  my  own  particular  goddess- 
Agnes — who  is  the  chief  woman  in  the  world  for 
me,  though  I  daren't  tell  her  so  till  I'm  farther 
ahead  in  fortune." 

"Agnes?  Which  is  she?"  answered  Russell, 
confusedly,  conscious  that  he  had  given  thought 
only  to  the  companion  of  his  talk  in  the  com- 
mittee-room. 

"Stupid!"  laughed  Jack,  pulled  this  way  and 
that  by  people  asking  him  questions.  "There's 
but  one  Agnes,  as  I  said,  and  she— er — she  wears 
blue." 

He  was  torn  away  by  an  imperative  demand 
for  the  floor  manager,  and  Russell  felt  relieved. 

"I  should  not  like  to  have  confessed  to  him 
that  neither  of  the  others  made  the  least  impres- 
sion upon  my  sensibility.  I  saw,  of  course, 
141 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

that  there  were  two  young  females  of  pleasing 
but  conventional  exterior — that  was  all.  Only 
the  blindness  of  a  brother  could  overlook  the 
fact  that  Margaret  is  far  and  away  the  most  dis- 
tinguished, individual,  high-bred,  graceful, 
gracious,  of  the  three.  A  man  who  has  once 
spoken  to  Margaret  would  seek  conversation 
with  the  other  two  only  when  he  had  absolutely 
no  chance  with  Margaret." 

Russell  stayed  till  daylight,  looking  in  at  the 
armory  windows,  drove  the  last  dancers  to  with- 
draw. Poor  Mrs.  Benedict,  yawning  dismally 
behind  the  ostrich-feather  fan,  had  to  confess 
herself  beaten  by  sheer  fatigue.  Walking  stiffly 
out  upon  the  arm  of  her  son,  she  soon  fell  into 
the  corner  of  her  carriage,  thanking  heaven  that 
Jack  could  by  no  possibility  be  again  the  floor 
manager  of  a  Junior  "Prom. "  All  around  her 
limp  figures  were  seen  slinking  into  retreat. 
The  most  indefatigable  of  the  dancers  among 
the  men  revealed  foreheads  streaked  with  mat- 
ted hair,  staring  eyes,  shirt-fronts  and  collars 
flaccid  for  want  of  starch,  buttonhole  bouquets 
like  crushed  vegetables.  Upon  that  stage  of 
the  annual  festivity  it  were  well  to  let  fall  a 
veil! 

When  Russell  appeared  at  the  carriage  door 
to  aid  Jack  in  putting  his  family  into  their 
142 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

vehicle,  a  faint  blush  came  into  the  clear  pale 
cheeks  of  his  companion  in  the  talk  of  a  few 
hours  before. 

"Might  I — would  you  take  a  little  stroll  with 
me  before  you  leave?"  he  ventured,  with  throb- 
bing heart,  to  ask  her. 

"To-morrow?  I  mean,  to-day?"  she  queried, 
a  little  confused. 

"Yes;  you  see  it  is  my  only  chance." 

"I  will  be  waiting  in  the  little  reception-room 
of  the  hotel  at  ten,"  she  said,  rapidly.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  they  were  in  a  boat  being 
borne  onward  by  the  current. 

Jack  and  Russell  walked  together  back  to  their 
dormitory  building,  where  each  man  occupied 
with  a  room-mate  a  suite  of  two  bedrooms  and 
a  sitting-room.  As  the  gray  of  the  sky  warmed 
with  rose  color,  Jack  yawned  mightily  between 
two  puffs  at  a  cigar. 

"I'd  give  a  kingdom  for  a  solid  eight  hours' 
sleep,"  he  said,  stretching  his  arms  out.  "But 
alas!  I've  got  to  be  up  betimes  at  the  station, 
on  duty,  putting 'them'  in  the  train,  you  know,  or 
I  think  I'd  take  'cuts'  enough  to  tide  me  over  a 
half  a  day  in  bed." 

"That  is  one  of  those  things  I  can't  do  for 
you,  or  I  would,"  said  Russell.     "I  mean  put- 
ting the  ladies  in  the  train." 
'43 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

"Why,  man,  are  you  made  of  iron  and  whale- 
bone that  you  show  not  a  sign  of  somnolence?" 
asked  Jack. 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  never  so  heartily  wished 
that  I  were  constructed  after  that  model  as  since 
this  evening's  experience.  But  remember  that 
you  have  danced  many  miles,  while  I've  merely 
hung  around  on  the  outskirts." 

"You  sound  gay  as  a  lark.  What's  come  over 
you?  I'd  advise  a  ball  a  week  at  this  rate.  Per- 
haps you  are  going  to  come  out  as  a  'fusser' — a 
regular  squire  of  dames — in  your  old  age." 

"No  such  good  luck.  I  have  seen  but  one 
dame  I  should  care  to  squire,  and  she — well — " 
and  Russell  sighed  genuinely. 

"A  confession?"  exclaimed  Jack,  gleefully. 
"But  it's  never  too  late  to  mend,  so  go  ahead." 

"I  have  no  story.  I  am  simply  the  victim  of 
overwhelming  circumstances.  Love  came  un- 
sought, unsent,  and  it  will  probably  expire  when 
I  do.  So  no  more  at  present  from  yours  idiot- 
ically." 

"I  know  you  too  well  to  press  queries.  You 
will,  as  usual,  just  shut  your  jaw  and  glare  in 
silence  if  you  don't  care  [to  hold  forth  on  any 
topic.  I,  too,  am  ready  for  silence,  though  for 
a  grosser  reason." 

They  kept  pace  together  without  speaking, 
i44 


THE  THREE    MISSES   BENEDICT 

until  they  reached  the  landing  where  Jack  turned 
in  at  his  door,  Russell  ascending  higher. 

"Good  night!  Good  day!"  said  Jack  as  they 
parted.  "By  the  way,  I  forgot  to  mention  that 
my  mother  tells  me  it  was  Agnes — my  Agnes, 
you  know — and  not  my  sister  Margaret,  with 
whom  you  had  that  chat  in  the  committee-room. 
Now,  I  did  suppose  that  even  a  churlish  old  bach 
like  you  could  tell  the  difference  between  those 
two.  Margaret's  a  nice  girl — a  dear  girl — but 
Agnes — well,  you  know  what  I  think  of  Agnes!" 

"Agnes?"  repeated  Russell,  almost  in  a  whis- 
per. 

"Yes,  my  bride-to-be,  when  I  get  money 
enough  to  claim  her.  My  mother  said  she  as 
evidently  took  to  you  as  you  did  to  her.  That's 
as  it  should  be,  old  chap.  When  I'm  awake 
we'll  have  a  jolly  long  talk  over  her  perfections. 
Meantime,  you  evidently  need  sleep  as  much  as 
I  do.  I  never  saw  such  a  pale  face  as  you've 
got  on  you  suddenly.  Brace  up,  and  good-by 
till  we  meet  again." 

"Agnes,"  repeated  Russell,  mechanically,  as 
he  crept  up  his  flight  of  stairs  and  went  into  his 
room. 

Down  fell  his  card-castle !  The  havoc  wrought 
on  him  by  that  one  short  talk  must  be  borne  in 
silence  and  lived  down.  It  was  Jack's  lady-love 
MS 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

that  he  had  coveted.  To  follow  up  the  advan- 
tage he  could  not  but  feel  that  what  he  had 
gained  with  her  would  mean  treachery  to  Jack. 
Rather  than  betray  his  friend  he  would  so  cancel 
his  engagement  to  meet  her  at  ten  o'clock  that 
she,  considering  him  a  boor,  would  not  choose 
to  hold  speech  with  him  again.  He  would 
simply  fail  to  go  to  her  hotel;  and,  cost  him 
what  it  might,  this  course  were  better  than 
undermining  Jack. 


146 


Ill 

As  the  hour  of  her  appointment  with  Hubert 
Russell  passed  without  sign  or  token  from  him, 
a  blush  of  shame  dyed  the  cheek  of  Agnes  Ben- 
edict. She  wondered  at  herself  for  making  this 
engagement  to  meet  Jack's  friend,  and  for  feel- 
ing ashamed  to  speak  of  it  to  her  family.  But 
with  a  sort  of  desperate  faith  in  him  she  waited 
in  the  little  reception-room  at  the  foot  of  the 
hotel  stairs  where  she  had  promised  to  be  found. 
When  she  could  wait  no  longer  she  went  into  her 
room  and  burst  into  tears.  Mortified  by  her 
want  of  self-control,  she  promised  herself  that 
Russell  would  yet  explain  satisfactorily  the 
slight  to  her.  At  the  station,  where  Jack  finally 
appeared — arriving  at  a  gallop  in  a  cab  just  as 
the  train  was  about  to  start — she  experienced  a 
new  pang  of  disappointment.  Not  only  was 
Hubert  Russell  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but  he  had 
sent  no  message.  Agnes  came  to  the  swift, 
maidenly  conclusion  that  it  was  because  she  had 
cheapened  herself  by  making  an  appointment  to 
see  him  alone  after  but  a  half-hour's  acquaint- 
'47 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

ance.  She  would  bear  her  punishment  in  silence, 
and  tell  nobody — Jack,  least  of  all. 

As  the  days  wore  on,  Agnes  felt  that  something 
had  gone  out  of  her  life — something  not  quite 
warranted  by  the  briefness  of  that  interlude  at 
the  ball.  Try  as  she  might,  she  could  not  forget 
Russell  and  the  emotion  he  had  caused  in  and 
had  seemed  to  feel  for  her.  Jack's  letters  home 
spoke  of  him  as  winning  new  honors  in  the  col- 
lege course.  When  June  came  the  family  went 
up  again  to  Yale  to  hear  the  speaking  for  the 
"De  Forest"  medal,  for  which  both  Jack  and 
Russell  were  to  be  competitors.  It  was  known 
that  popular  opinion  inclined  to  select  Jack  Ben- 
edict as  the  prize-winner,  but  that  Russell  was 
considered  a  close  second.  In  their  zeal  for 
their  own  hero  the  Benedicts  were  beginning  to 
look  a  little  frigidly  upon  Jack's  opponent.  And 
it  is  safe  to  say  that  all  of  them,  save  Agnes, 
hoped  and  prayed  that  Russell  might  not  win. 

Agnes,  who  would  have  given  anything  for  an 
excuse  to  stay  away,  found  none.  The  appointed 
day  saw  her  one  of  an  audience  assembled  within 
the  walls  of  the  old  college  chapel,  whose  prim 
Puritan  interior  made  even  this  gala  occasion 
seem  a  little  less  cheerful  than  a  funeral  else- 
where. She  had  been  standing  with  her  cousins 
in  the  corridor  as  the  procession  of  senior  class- 
148 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

men  in  caps  and  gowns  filed  by;  and,  to  her 
utter  discomfiture,  a  momentary  halt  in  the  line 
had  brought  her  face  to  face  with  Hubert  Rus- 
sell. In  an  instant  the  blood  rushed  into  her 
cheeks.  Russell,  looking  her  full  in  the  face, 
saluted  her  with  conventional  reserve.  In  real- 
ity he  felt  more  of  inward  excitement  than  did 
she.  A  moment  more  and  they  had  parted,  she 
to  sit  gathering  her  faculties  together  in  one  end 
of  the  pew  to  which  the  Benedicts  had  been 
assigned,  and  trying  to  believe  that  she  had  not 
cared  a  bit. 

"Did  you  see  that  Mr.  Russell?"  whispered 
Louisa  in  her  ear.  "A  stiff,  cross-looking  fel- 
low, spite  of  Jack's  praises.  Oh,  Agnes,  if  he 
and  not  Jack  should  win  the  'De  Forest'  I  could 
never  get  over  it — never.  I  almost  hate  him 
now,  don't  you?" 

"No-o,"  whispered  Agnes,  blushing  and  hesi- 
tating. 

"You  are  too  angelic.  And  when  any  one  can 
see  Jack  cares  more  for  what  you  think  than  for 
all  the  rest  of  us  put  together!  At  any  rate, 
you  will  own  that  Hubert  Russell  is  very  uncivil. 
He  has  never  taken  the  least  notice  of  Jack's 
family,  and  considering  all  Jack  has  been  to  him! 
A  man  told  me  it  is  quite  well  known  there's  a 
cloud  over  Russell's  family — something  really 
149 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

dreadful,  and  that  Jack  has  simply  brought  every- 
body to  forget  it  and  to  treat  Russell  as  if  it  had 
never  been." 

"What  Jack  has  done  is  grand,  and  I  honor 
him  for  it,"  said  Agnes.  "Who  dares  judge  a 
man  for  the  sins  of  his  father?  If  ever  any  one 
showed  a  high  and  noble  nature  in  his  counte- 
nance it  is  Hubert  Russell." 

"Don't  get  excited,"  said  Lou,  teasingly. 
"The  object  isn't  worth  it,  in  my  opinion.  I 
suppose,  though,  you  and  Jack  see  things  with 
the  same  eyes  nowadays." 

"Lou,  you  mustn't.  Jack  and  I  are  nothing 
but  cousins — dear  cousins, "  said  Agnes,  implor- 
ingly. 

Mrs.  Benedict,  looking  across  Margaret,  here 
hushed  their  whispers.  The  exercises  were 
already  under  way. 

When  it  was  Jack's  turn  to  step  upon  the  plat- 
form, and  after  a  courteous  bow  in  his  student's 
gown  to  the  president  and  judges,  to  begin  his 
oration,  all  hearts  in  the  audience  warmed 
toward  the  manly  and  graceful  and  straight-for- 
ward young  fellow.  His  essay,  well-written, 
carefully  polished,  was  delivered  with  excellent 
judgment,  and  when  he  had  ended  and  stepped 
down  amid  tremendous  applause  from  his  friends 
and  classmen,  the  general  verdict  was  that  it 
150 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

would  win  the  prize.  Last  upon  the  list  of 
speakers  came  Hubert  Russell.  The  rather 
measured  applause  bestowed  on  him  as  he  ap- 
peared was  warmed  up  by  the  individual  hand- 
clapping  of  his  friend  and  predecessor,  Jack. 
Hardly  a  smile  lighted  Russell's  dark  and  hand- 
some face  as  he  began.  His  manner,  never 
prepossessing,  seemed  now  under  some  spell  or 
chill  of  indifference. 

By  hazard  the  pew  in  which  the  Benedicts 
were  placed  was  well  to  the  front,  upon  the  left- 
hand  side  of  the  speaker.  As  Russell  finally 
approached  his  peroration,  his  glance  chanced 
for  a  moment  to  rest  upon  the  glowing,  inspir- 
ing, appealing  countenance  of  a  girl  who  leaned 
forward  to  gaze  on  him  with  her  whole  soul  in 
her  eyes.  The  effect  of  this  was  immediate. 
Casting  aside  his  embarrassment,  his  indifference, 
he  burst  into  a  fervor  of  natural  eloquence  the 
like  of  which  had  not  been  heard  in  that  spot 
that  day,  or  for  many  a  day.  To  Russell  was 
given  the  persuasiveness  of  speech,  the  music  of 
the  voice,  the  flow  of  language,  the  flexibility 
of  countenance,  that  combined  may  give  interest 
to  material  of  less  value  than  was  his.  When  he 
had  finished  the  brief  essay  there  was  no  ques- 
tion among  his  hearers  as  to  who  had  spoken 
best;  they  yielded  him  the  spontaneous  applause 


THE  THREE    MISSES   BENEDICT 

that  no  favor  to  the  individual  can  simulate. 
Louder  and  longer  than  any  other  present  ap- 
plauded honest  Jack  Benedict,  who  knew  himself 
outdone. 

"Why,  mother,  that  is  not  like  you,"  said  Jack 
that  evening,  when  he  went  to  take  supper  with 
his  family  at  their  hotel. 

Mrs.  Benedict,  who  had  been  delivering  her- 
self of  a  few  rather  bitter  criticisms  upon  the 
winner  of  the  "De  Forest"  (news  of  the  award 
to  Hubert  Russell  had  just  been  communicated 
to  them  by  Jack),  tried  to  smile  deprecatingly, 
and  ended  by  dropping  a  few  tears. 

"I  know  it,  Jack  darling.  But  it's  because 
you  are  so  much  more  to  us  than  any  Mr.  Rus- 
sell." 

"Oh,  mother  dear,  that's  the  fortune  of  war. 
Russell  did  it  a  thousand  times  better  than  ever 
I  could  have  done.  When  you  think  he  has  no 
one — absolutely  no  human  being  to  whom  to 
telegraph  his  success,  and  I  have  all  of  you — you 
will  see  that  what  I  have  is  more  than  a  balance 
for  Hubert's  luck  to-day." 

"Poor  fellow!  I  wish  he  had  come  here  with 
you.  I  wish  we  could  say  something  nice  to 
him,"  said  the  good  lady,  her  little  fit  of  ill-tem- 
per dissipated  by  native  kindness  of  heart. 

"He  can't  be  captured,  I'm  afraid.  He  is 
152 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

more  queer  than  ever  regarding  women  since 
the  Prom.  About  that  time  he  let  me  think  he 
was  or  had  been  hopelessly  in  love,  and  was 
ashamed  of  himself  for  being  so.  Had  he  con- 
fided in  me,  I  should  [keep  my  lips  sealed.  But 
no!  Hubert  Russell  lives  and  must  always  live, 
I  fear,  severely  within  himself." 

A  secret  love  for  some  one  that  must  govern 
all  his  life!  Agnes,  listening,  felt  her  heart 
sink  in  very  shame.  Since  she  had  heard  Rus- 
sell speak,  her  fancy  for  him,  that  had  but  lain 
dormant,  had  sprung  up  in  full  growth  and  vigor. 
And  now  she  was  told  that  he  whom  she  loved 
in  secret  cared  nothing  at  all  for  her.  That 
meeting  on  going  into  chapel  but  confirmed  her 
in  this  conviction.  She  little  knew  that  a 
glimpse  of  her  face  it  was  which  had  inspired  his 
brilliant  effort  of  oratory.  She  little  knew — 

After  supper,  in  the  cool,  soft  evening  air  of 
June,  they  walked  over  to  the  town  green,  and 
while  Mrs.  Benedict  and  Margaret  sat  together 
on  a  bench  talking,  Lou  strolled  in  one  direction, 
accompanied  by  a  certain  young  man  who  had 
of  late  begun  to  arrest  her  butterfly  attention, 
while  Agnes  and  Jack  took  another  path. 

The  latter  pair[talked  long  and  easily  together, 
of  the  interests  shared  by  them  through  rela- 
tionship and  intimacy  of  habit.  It  was  only 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

when  Jack  began  insensibly  to  glide  into  the 
tone  of  tenderness  she  had  noticed  often  of  late 
with  some  alarm  that  his  cousin  drew  back  a 
little  in  her  friendly  attitude. 

"Don't  Jack;  there's  a  dear  boy,"  she  said, 
coaxingly.  "If  you  only  knew  how  nice  you  can 
be  when  you  are  sensible." 

Jack's  reply  was  a  burst  of  long  repressed 
devotion,  to  which  Agnes  listened  in  dismay. 
She  had  no  idea  matters  had  gone  so  far,  and 
was  shocked  at  this  evidence  of  deep  feeling. 

Very  gently,  very  tenderly,  she  pleaded  with 
him  to  give  up  the  idea,  and  after  a  long  and 
painful  talk  brought  herself  to  the  point  of 
avowing  that  her  love  was  not  hers  to  give. 
Jack,  who  knew  most  of  her  acquaintances,  could 
not  conceive  of  a  rival  among  them.  But  the 
double  blow  of  losing  in  one  day  the  cherished 
hopes  of  two  such  prizes  was  more  than  the  poor 
fellow  could  meet  with  equanimity.  In  their 
absorption,  as  they  walked  to  and  fro,  neither 
observed  that  Russell,  straying  out  to  be  alone 
beneath  the  starlight  with  his  own  swelling 
emotions,  had  encountered  them ;  had  made  an 
irrepressible  movement  toward  Agnes,  then,  see- 
ing the  expression  of  Jack's  face,  had  hurried 
on  with  a  bitterness  of  jealousy  in  his  heart  that 
robbed  success  of  all  its  charms. 


"AND   WITH    GLOOM   IN    HIS   HEART   HE   WENT   BACK   TO    HIS 
LONELY   ROOM   AND   LIFE." 


THE   THREE    MISSES   BENEDICT 

"Then  you  care  for  some  one  else?"  Jack  was 
saying  in  a  fierce  undertone. 

"Jack — don't,  please!"  murmured  she,  tears 
welling  into  her  eyes. 

"But  I  must  know,"  he  went  on,  hardly  aware 
of  his  own  insistence. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  last,  never  so  faintly. 
"But  he  does  not  care  for  me." 

All  of  Jack's  manhood  answered  to  this  piti- 
ful confession.  He  spoke  to  her  gently,  sooth- 
ingly, laid  her  hand  in  his  arm,  and  told  her  he 
would  always  watch  over  her  like  a  brother. 
And  Agnes,  reassured,  looked  up  in  his  face  with 
loving  gratitude. 

At  this  point,  Russell,  on  the  return,  again 
passed  them.  A  single  glance  at  the  couple  con- 
vinced him  that  Jack  had  won  a  prize  dearer  far 
than  the  "one  his  friend  had  that  day  wrested 
from  him. 

"It  was  a  miserable  delusion  of  my  vanity," 
Russell  said  within  himself,  "that  made  me 
answer  to  the  inspiration  of  her  gaze.  It  is 
Jack,  the  fortunate,  the  pet  of  Destiny,  who 
is  to  claim  her.  Here  endeth  the  chapter  of  my 
folly." 

And  with  gloom  in  his  heart  he  went  back  into 
his  lonely  room  and  life. 


'55 


IV 

Three  years  after  the  brief  episode  of  Hubert 
Russell's  two  meetings  with  Agnes  Benedict  he 
found  himself  enjoying  a  hard-earned  holiday  in 
camp  on  an  island  in  Georgian  Bay.  Since 
graduating,  he  had  made  a  quick  climb  up  the 
ladder  of  success.  A  series  of  fortunate  cir- 
cumstances had  enabled  him  to  conquer  difficul- 
ties apparently  insuperable.  His  residence  in  a 
progressive  town  of  the  Middle  West,  congenial 
occupation,  and  the  sense  of  work  well  bestowed, 
had  done  much  to  restore  the  healthy  tone  of 
his  mind,  biased  to  melancholy  through  another's 
crime.  He  had  corresponded  intermittently 
with  Jack  Benedict,  but  without  touching  upon 
the  subject  of  Jack's  domestic  or  sentimental 
ties.  He  had  read,  in  the  "society"  columns  of 
certain  New  York  newspapers,  of  various  occa- 
sions upon  which  the  three  Misses  Bendict  had 
appeared  before  the  world;  of  their  summers 
abroad  and  at  home;  of  the  marriage  of  Mar- 
garet; and  recently  of  the  more  than  amateur 
achievement  of  Agnes  as  the  artist  of  some  pas- 
tels displayed  at  an  exhibition  in  the  spring. 
156 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

What  he  had  expected  to  read — the  announce- 
ment of  her  marriage  with  her  cousin  Jack — had 
not  yet  reached  Russell's  eye.  When  that  event 
should  occur,  and  not  till  then,  Russell  said  to 
himself,  he  would  give  up,  once  and  for  all,  the 
haunting  witchery  of  Agnes  Benedict's  fair  face. 
Through  the  mists  of  three  years  of  memory  it 
shone  upon  him  still! 

One  day  in  August  a  little  pleasure-yacht  of 
light  draft  and  dainty  build  (meant  to  thread  her 
way  between  innumerable  rocky  islands  and 
dally  beside  tempting  bits  of  shore,  rather  than 
to  brave  the  rough  water  of  the  open  bay) 
passed  into  an  inlet  where  its  owner  had  decided 
to  throw  a  rope  over  a  large  rock  and  stop  to 
lunch! 

This  primitive  method  of  anchorage  was  a 
favorite  one  with  the  owners  of  the  Juanita,  the 
Cartwrights,  a  benevolent  elderly  couple  from 
New  York,  who,  owning  a  summer  residence 
upon  one  of  the  islands  lower  down  the  bay, 
often  took  their  house-parties  away  for  days  of 
pleasuring  afloat.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cartwright  had 
now  as  their  guests  several  young  men  and  maid- 
ens, among  them  Jack  Benedict,  his  sister 
Louisa,  and  his  Cousin  Agnes.  All  day  the 
Juanita  had  run  through  narrow  channels  of  pale 
green  water,  between  rocky  ramparts  crowned 
J57 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

with  spruce  and  birch,  around  the  gray  flanks  of 
which  sprang  from  the  water  forests  of  bul- 
rushes, sprinkled  with  cardinal  flowers  and  water- 
lilies.  As  they  now  steered  skillfully  into  the 
channel,  in  which  it  was  expected  to  find  their 
usual  landing-place  open  to  approach,  an  expres- 
sion of  disappointment  arose  from  the  forward 
deck,  where  gathered  a  little  group  of  voyagers 
in  the  gay  attire  of  summer  on  the  wave. 

"A  camp  of  men!  Horrid  things!  Why  did 
they  choose  our  island!"  cried  Lou  Benedict, 
pouting. 

A  rough  house-boat  anchored  near  the  shore 
formed  the  center  of  supplies  for  the  camp, 
often  replenished  by  a  tri-weekly  steam  launch 
from  the  mainland.  Around  a  fire  built  upon 
stones  a  party  of  young  men  were  making  rather 
bored  preparations  for  their  mid-day  meal.  As 
the  whistle  of  the  toy  yacht  sounded  a  salute 
they  arose  to  their  feet  and  came  hurrying  down 
to  the  water's  edge,  evidently  not  displeased  at 
the  invasion  of  their  privacy. 

"Hubert  Russell!"  exclaimed  Benedict,  joy- 
fully, as  he  identified  among  them  his  old  friend. 
"Who  would  have  dreamed  of  our  meeting  here?" 

Greetings  and  introductions  followed,  and  from 
this  point  no  expression  was  heard  from  the  girls 
of  disapproval  of  "those  horrid  men." 
158 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

It  was  in  truth  a  stalwart  and  good-looking 
band  of  which  Russell  was  the  leader.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Cartwright,  nominally  joining  forces  with 
them  for  luncheon,  brought  joy  to  the  hearts  of 
these  weary  cooks  and  bottle-washers  by  the 
unpacking  of  a  dainty  meal,  well  served  by  the 
yacht's  cook  and  stewards.  As  the  party 
grouped  itself  under  the  shade  of  glimmering 
birches,  Russell,  as  if  through  a  mockery  of 
Fate,  found  himself  next  to  the  lady  of  his 
dreams.  The  talk,  at  first  general,  subsided 
into  chat  between  persons  sitting  at  a  picnic 
casually  side  by  side.  Russell,  almost  fearing  to 
continue  where  he  was,  looked  over  the  circle 
to  see  Jack  Benedict  half  reclining  on  the  moss  at 
the  feet  of  an  extremely  pretty  girl  in  white 
duck,  a  sailor-hat  tied  down  with  a  white  veil 
half  covering  her  face.  Seeing  him  thus  pro- 
vided for,  Russell  had  less  scruple  in  accepting 
his  own  half-hour  of  joy. 

He  thought  Agnes  sweeter,  more  womanly, 
more  to  his  taste  than  ever.  The  rare  experi- 
ence was  his  of  finding  one's  self  confirmed  in  a 
predilection  after  three  years  of  total  separation 
from  the  object.  They  talked  easily,  without 
reference  to  the  past,  without  touching  upon 
intimate  topics.  He  fancied,  without  being  sure, 
that  Agnes  knew  the  incidents  of  his  advance  since 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

leaving  college.  That  she  had  thus  kept  track 
of  him  was  a  flattery  he  must  accept  only  because 
he  was  Jack's  friend.  When  he  left  her,  his 
pulses  bounding  with  delight  of  her  presence, 
Jack  Benedict  took  him  off  to  the  roof  of  the 
yacht's  deck,  where  they  sat  by  the  pilot-house 
and  smoked  and  chatted  through  a  long  and  lazy 
hour.  During  this  time  the  rest  of  the  party  had 
scattered  for  various  enterprises — exploring  the 
waters  in  canoes,  fishing,  reading  novels  under 
the  deck-awning,  or  lounging  beneath  the  trees 
and  overhanging  rocks. 

And  "as  yet  no  word  had  passed  Jack's  lips 
concerning  his  sentimental  relations  with  the 
sex.  Suddenly  Mrs.  Cartwright's  voice  called 
up  to  him : 

"Mr.  Benedict,  won't  you  please  take  a  canoe 
and  paddle  up  that  inlet  yonder  in  search  of  your 
cousin  and  Miss  Clare?  We  shall  be  starting 
before  long,  and  I  must  begin  to  gather  my 
chickens  under  my  wings." 

Jack  blushed  as  he  prepared  to  obey  the 
chaperon's  behest. 

"You  will  think  that  for  an  engaged  man  I'm 
rather  forgetful  of  my  treasure,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"I  meant  to  tell  you,  Russell,  that  I'm  to  be 
married  in  October." 

Russell's  heart  gave  a  despairing  leap. 
160 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

"Wasn't  it  to  be  expected?"  he  said,   smiling 
also. 

"Well — I — there  were  reasons  why  I  couldn't 
bring  myself  to  write  to  you,  old  chap,"  rejojned 
Jack,  as  he  dropped  lightly  into  the  canvas 
canoe  a  deck-hand  had  put  into  the  water,  Rus- 
sell following.  "And  perhaps  we  need  not  dis- 
cuss it  further.  But  I'm  happier  than  I  deserve 
to  be,  and  I  have  won  a  gem  of  purest  ray." 

As  they  paddled  rapidly  around  the  sharp  pro- 
jection of  rocks  that  had  seemed  to  block  the 
way  ahead  of  them,  they  saw  the  girls'  canoe  in 
the  center  of  a  field  of  lily-pads  bordering 
another  one  of  the  rocky  points  here  so  numer- 
ous in  the  channel.  When  the  lily-gatherers, 
who  had  half  filled  their  craft  with  masses  of 
gleaming  flowers  and  long,  curling  stems,  espied 
the  search-party,  they  waved  them  a  merry  wel- 
come. 

"I  knew  they  were  not  fishing;  she's  too  ten- 
der-hearted by  far,"  exclaimed  Jack,  with  a 
lover's  pride. 

Simultaneously  the  smiles  vanished  from  his 
handsome  face.  A  naphtha  launch  just  then 
passing  into  this  inlet  had  left  behind  it  a  swell 
that  made  the  canoe  containing  the  two  girls  rock 
perilously  from  side  to  side.  Agnes,  evidently 
recognizing  the  danger,  sat  quite  still,  but  Edith 
161 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

Clare  threw  herself  forward  with  a  scream  and 
clasped  her  companion  in  her  arms.  The  canoe, 
upsetting,  plunged  both  occupants  into  the 
broad-leafed  greenery,  under  which  they  sank  at 
once  out  of  sight. 

"Can  they  swim?"  asked  Russell,  quickening 
his  stroke. 

"Yes,  both  of  them,  if  they  are  not  caught 
below,"  answered  Benedict,  hoarsely. 

Their  canoe  shot  madly  forward.  Prompt  as 
were  the  people  in  the  naphtha  launch  in  turning 
back  to  attempt  rescue,  they  could  not  vie  with 
these  men  in  their  eager  effort  to  reach  the 
scene  of  the  disaster.  It  was  soon  fatally  evi- 
dent that  while  one  of  the  young  women  had 
arisen  to  the  surface  and  was  keeping  herself 
afloat,  something  had  happened  to  prevent  the 
reappearance  of  the  other.  Jack  was  not  so 
quick  as  Hubert  Russell  to  see  that  it  was  Agnes 
who  was  missing.  With  misery  clutching  at  his 
heart-strings,  Russell  said,  entreatingly: 

"Let  me  save  her  for  you,  Jack!  It  will  be 
something  to  pay  back  all  you've  done  for  me  if 
I  can  put  the  woman  I've  loved  ever  since  I 
first  laid  eyes  on  her  into  your  arms  again." 

He  could  not  see  that  Jack  was  not  even  look- 
ing toward  the  place  where  Agnes  had  gone 
down.  All  his  thoughts  were  directed  to  the 
163 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

spot  whence  Edith  Clare  called  out  to  him  to 
save  her.  "Coming,  my  darling;  have  no  fear," 
Jack  answered  her,  tenderly. 

Russell,  without  an  instant's  further  delay, 
dived  overboard.  The  canoe,  violently  shaken, 
was  yet  steadied  by  the  other  occupant,  who  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  Edith  and  extricating  her  in 
safety  from  her  perilous  surroundings. 

An  anxious  interval,  and  Russell  reappeared, 
bringing  with  him  the  sodden  form  of  Agnes, 
who,  snared  and  held  under  water  by  the  green 
serpents  of  the  lily-stems,  was  quite  inanimate. 
They  got  her  aboard  the  launch  and  hurried 
back  to  the  yacht,  where  poor  Mrs.  Cartwright 
received  them  wringing  her  hands  over  this  sad 
ending  of  her  day  of  pleasure.  During  the  hour 
while  Russell  waited  in  an  agony  of  fear  on  deck, 
Jac^  Benedict,  who  stood  beside  him,  became 
for  the  first  time  aware  of  his  friend's  long  ordeal 
of  repressed  feeling  for  Agnes. 

"And  I  might  have  spared  you  so  much  of  it; 
it  was  my  fault;  I  only  was  to  blame,"  Jack 
said,  sorrowfully.  "Ages  ago,  had  I  known 
this,  I  might  have  told  you  how  she  gently  and 
tenderly — poor  soul — but  with  finality,  put  a  stop 
to  my  boy's  dream  of  winning  her.  Now,  when 
God  only  knows  whether  she  will  be  with  us  in 
the  future,  I  can  say  no  more.  I  think,  Hubert — 
163 


THE   THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

mind,  I  can't  say  I  am  sure,  but  I  think — she 
must  have  loved  you  from  the  first." 

Russell  could  not  speak.  He  wrung  Bene- 
dict's hand,  looking  at  him  with  hollow,  haggard 
eyes. 

"So  many  people  have  known  for  the  last  two 
years  of  my  attentions  to  Edith  Clare,  we  have 
been  so  frequently  announced  by  our  friends  to 
be  engaged,  that,  even  before  the  engagement 
was  a  fact,  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  you, 
though  living  so  far  from  us,  were  in  total  igno- 
rance of  our  relations.  You  can  see,  Hubert,  that 
Edith  is  my  other  self.  My  fancy  for  Agnes 
grew  up  with  me,  but  the  love  for  Edith  came 
with  my  maturer  manhood.  Our  engagement 
was  announced  only  just  before  we  all  came  off 
here  to  visit  Mrs.  Cartwright,  or  I  should  have 
written  to  inform  you  of  it  officially  and  of  my 
approaching  marriage. ' ' 

"There!"  exclaimed  Russell,  who  was  strain- 
ing his  ears  to  hear  sounds  from  the  little  inner 
cabin,  where  Agnes  lay  under  the  care  of  Mrs. 
Cartwright  and  a  doctor — found,  fortunately, 
among  the  campers  on  the  island.  "I  am  sure 
I  heard  her  voice." 

Jack's  sister  Lou  came  out  to  them,  her  face 
beaming  with  delight.  "She  has  stirred — has 
spoken ;  she  breathes  easily  now, ' '  was  what  they 
164 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

heard.  "In  a  little  while,  the  doctor  says,  she 
will  be  herself  again,"  Lou  tried  to  add,  but  was 
choked  by  her  excitement. 

An  hour  or  two  later  Russell,  who  had  been 
invited  by  their  hostess  to  go  back  with  them 
for  a  little  visit  to  her  island  villa,  sat  beside  the 
lounging-chair  of  Indian  bamboo  heaped  with 
rugs  and  cushions,  in  which  they  had  placed 
Agnes  upon  deck — clad  for  the  occasion  in 
things  they  always  carried  aboard  in  a  wardrobe 
assembled  for  such  emergencies.  The  yacht 
was  speeding  merrily  homeward  over  a  track  of 
westering  sunshine.  Forest  fires  upon  the  small 
islands  along  their  route  glowed  like  jewels 
under  canopies  of  dense,  pearly  smoke.  In  the 
wake  of  the  boat  violet  shadows  appeared  and 
vanished  into  the  water.  All  ahead  of  the  two 
was  bright  as  the  Promised  Land. 

What  had  so  long  seemed  impossible  to  these 
lovers  had  come  about  in  the  simplest  fashion. 
Their  hands  meeting  had  conveyed  the  joy  of 
each  at  reunion  with  the  other.  A  few  broken 
words  from  Russell  told  Agnes  that  he  had  no 
dearer  wish  than  to  win  her  love.  And  Agnes — 
Now  she  was  pouring  out  to  him  the  confidences 
of  three  years  past;  was  claiming  his  in  return; 
was  hanging  upon  his  words,  her  face  so  full  of 
happiness  as  to  tell  its  own  story. 
165 


THE  THREE   MISSES   BENEDICT 

"We  are  all  avoiding  that  part  of  the  deck  as 
if  it  were  a  region  of  pestilence,"  said  Lou  to 
her  future  sister-in-law.  "I  don't  think  I  ever 
saw  such  bare-faced  love-making  in  public.  I 
have  had  to  put  up  a  parasol  so  as  not  to  see 
them.  As  for  you  and  Jack,  Edith,  you  may 
step  down  from  your  pedestal  as  fiance's. 
Although  mamma  will  be  very  much  taken  by 
surprise  to  hear  that  Agnes  has  come  up  into 
these  remote  waters  to  annex  a  young  man  from 
off  an  island,  I  think  Jack  will  induce  her  to 
feel  resigned.  Certainly,  Russell  is  a  fine, 
manly  fellow.  From  all  I  can  see,  I  fancy  there 
will  soon  be  only  one  Miss  Benedict." 

"And  for  how  long  will  there  be  even  one?" 
asked  Edith,  teasingly. 

Lou  blushed,  and  would  not  answer. 


166 


A   GIRL   OF   THE   PERIOD 


167 


A  GIRL  OF  THE  PERIOD 


A  great  deal  of  feeble  sympathy  was  expressed 
for  the  Foljambes  when  it  became  known 
they  had  lost  their  money.  But  regret  for  that 
sort  of  misfortune  to  one's  neighbors  is  always 
tempered  when  they  have  previously  shone 
before  the  world  as  the  dispensers  of  extravagant 
hospitality.  Thrifty,  self-centered  people  who 
have  been  inconspicuous  because  of  their  objec- 
tion to  amusing  society  at  the  expense  of  their 
own  purses,  are  apt,  under  similar  circum- 
stances, to  receive  much  more  hearty  condolence. 
The  Foljambes,  father,  mother,  sons,  and  daugh- 
ters, invitations  to  whose  parties  had  been 
scrambled  for  in  New  York  and  Newport,  during 
several  seasons  past,  were  now  reaping  the  har- 
vest of  over-abundant  giving. 

It  was  generally  agreed  that  Mrs.  Foljambe, 
a  weak,  silly  woman  with  a  bee  in  her  bonnet 
for  fashionable  life,  had  quite  long  enough 
enjoyed  her  place  in  the  fierce  light  that  beats 
upon  the  throne  of  American  plutocracy.  The 
169 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

father,  a  clever  financier,  with  the  one  social 
accomplishment  of  effacing  himself  when  the 
strain  of  recognizing  his  individuality  became 
too  great  upon  the  frequenters  of  his  house,  was 
dismissed  with  even  scanter  consideration.  The 
sons — one  recently  started  in  business,  the  other 
but  just  out  of  college — were  very  little  known 
except  to  their  cronies.  The  real  stars  of  the 
Foljambe  family,  those  whose  effulgence  or 
eclipse  was  likely  to  be  of  consequence  in  the 
social  firmament,  were  the  daughters,  Lilian 
and  Olive. 

Of  Lilian,  the  elder,  it  had  been  customary  to 
say  that  in  a  matrimonial  point  of  view  she 
might  be  expected  to  do  "anything."  Beautiful, 
accomplished,  fine  of  grain,  cradled  and  bred  in 
polished  luxury,  she  was  the  traditional  princess 
who  could  not  sleep  for  the  crumpled  roseleaf 
in  her  couch  of  down.  Since  she  had  made  her 
appearance  before  the  world  her  friends  had 
watched,  open-mouthed,  to  see  who  would 
carry  off  the  prize.  Of  the  half  a  dozen  men 
prominently  in  her  train,  none  could  be  adjudged 
exactly  fit  for  her.  "Dancing  men  and  dips" — 
meaning  diplomats — was  the  way  they  were 
summed  up.  Of  course  it  was  not  to  be  ex- 
pected that  a  mere  diner-out  and  frequenter  of 
cotillons — a  man  whose  boast  it  was  not  to  have 
170 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

missed  a  ball  or  banquet  during  the  season — 
could  presume  to  mate  with  this  very  choice 
specimen  of  the  leading  set  in  Manhattan's 
aristocracy.  Lilian  Foljambe  was  destined  to 
high  place,  name,  fame,  and  representative  posi- 
tion. She  was  of  the  stuff — declared  some 
enthusiasts — of  which  the  wives  of  our  ambassa- 
dors to  foreign  courts  should  be  made.  Though 
if  ever  there  was  a  head  for  which  nature 
intended  a  tiara — inherited,  not  bought — it  was 
Lilian  Foljambe's. 

But  Lilian  had  come  to  be  four-and-twenty — 
an  age  in  woman]  when  the  insolence  of  youth 
must  needs  begin  to  curb  itself  and  look  about 
to  reckon  the  comparative  values  of  its  chances 
for  actual  establishment  in  life,  without  realizing 
any  of  the  hopes  fixed  upon  her.  She  had, 
needless  to  say,  her  full  complement  of  unemo- 
tional offers  from  the  kind  of  young  men  whom 
she  met  nightly  wearing  evening  dress  with  white 
waistcoats,  who  talked  afterward  at  the  club 
together  concerning  their  ill-luck  with  her,  and 
wondered  "what  the  deuce  the  girl  was  waitin' 
for."  She  went  abroad  year  after  year  with 
her  family,  was  presented  at  various  courts, 
made  many  titled  acquaintances,  was  extolled 
for  her  good  looks,  and  reputed  to  have  twice 
her  actual  fortune.  And  still  there  was  no  hint 
171 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

of  the  "great  match, ".or  of  any  kind  of  a  match, 
for  the  fair  Miss  Foljambe. 

Olive,  on  the  contrary,  with  not  half  Lilian's 
beauty  or  style  or  grand  air,  had  at  twenty-one 
her  quiver  full  of  admirers  who  would  have  liked 
to  be  something  more.  Olive's  chief  possessions 
were  a  brown  skin,  a  pair  of  laughing  hazel  eyes, 
a  bewitching  mouth  and  teeth,  plenty  of  com- 
mon sense,  a  merry  nature,  and  a  nimble  wit. 
During  her  first  winter  "out"  she  had  announced 
to  her  family  her  intention  to  marry  Stephen 
Luttridge,  a  clever  young  architect,  who  had 
nothing  in  particular  a  year.  Mrs.  Foljambe — 
ranking  the  outcome  of  Luttridge's  profession, 
together  with  those  of  art  and  literature,  as 
in  some  way  connected  with  food  cooked  in 
chafing-dishes  and  a  maid-servant  receiving 
cards  between  thumb  and  finger — looked  hon- 
estly alarmed.  She  induced  her  husband  to 
declare  that  he  would  give  nothing  "down" 
with  either  daughter  unless  she  should  marry  to 
please  her  parents. 

Olive  smilingly  declared  that  she  could  very 
well  afford  to  wait  until  Luttridge  should  have 
three  thousand  a  year,  at  which  time  she  meant 
to  take  the  matter  into  her  own  hands.  Mr. 
Foljambe,  egged  on  by  his  wife,  had  stipulated 
that  the  affair  should  not  be  called  an  engage- 
172 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

ment.  And  Olive  had  answered,  laughing,  that 
she  did  not  care  what  they  called  it,  provided  no 
other  girl  got  Stephen  Luttridge. 

Now  a  crash  had  come.  Foljambe's  name, 
hitherto  most  familiar  to  a  set  of  men  who  had 
confidence  in  his  probity  and  were  dazzled  by 
his  schemes,  had  been  seen  of  late  in  every 
newspaper  in  connection  with  the  story  of  his 
stupendous,  over-confident,  and  rash  specula- 
tions. And  such  a  tremendous  failure  had  not 
been  chronicled  in  years !  It  was  a  curious  fact 
that  the  men  who  commented  on  it  said  gener- 
ally, in  conclusion,  "If  he  could  only  have  gone 
on  for  one  week  longer,  by  George,  he'd  have 
been  safe!" 

Foljambe  was  not  afraid  to  meet  his  creditors. 
He  had  chosen  a  trusty  and  capable  friend  to  be 
his  assignee  for  their  benefit,  and  was  sure  he 
could  more  than  pay  his  debts — though  his 
remaining  assets  were  not  all  of  a  kind  to  be 
immediately  turned  into  cash,  and  he  could 
hardly  expect  much  of  a  surplus  for  himself. 
Indeed,  nobody  else  expected  his  assignee  to  be 
even  able  to  satisfy  the  creditors;  and  so  his 
credit,  even  with  his  friends,  was  entirely  gone. 
He  had  given  to  his  sons  good  educations  with 
which  to  fight  the  world  on  their  own  account — 
for  most  young  Americans  a  more  fatherly  bene- 
'73 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

faction  than  a  balance  at  a  bank  and  leisure  to 
haunt  clubs.  And  they  were  manly  young  fel- 
lows. It  was,  in  plain  words,  his  woraenkind  of 
whom  Martin  Foljambe  was  afraid. 

His  wife,  with  whom  he  had  begun  life  in  the 
narrowest  fashion — who  had  helped  herself  with 
both  hands  to  the  accretions  of  his  successful 
business  career — would  never,  he  knew,  be  able 
to  forgive  the  folly  of  his  downfall.  With  women 
of  her  type,  to  have  is  to  forget  all  previous 
deficiencies,  to  claim  prosperity  as  a  right,  to 
resent  reverses  as  a  personal  wrong.  Sweet, 
beautiful  Lilian,  who  was  the  poetry  of  his 
prosy  existence,  she  would  be  gentle  and  for- 
bearing with  him.  But  Lilian,  deprived  of  her 
luxuries,  was  an  image  he  could  not  bear  to  con- 
template. He  knew  her  to  be  so  utterly  unfitted 
for  the  world  of  work-a-day.  Olive,  now,  was  in 
some  way  different.  She,  like  her  sister,  had 
been  an  extravagant  little  puss.  But  Olive 
had  a  way  of  pullingjierself  together  and  facing 
contingencies  that  gave  him  more  hope  for  her 
endurance  of  the  change. 

Those  were  sad  days  in  the  great  stately 
house  off  the  Park,  and  so  well  known  to  the 
world  of  fashion,  following  the  Foljambe  failure. 
The  large  staff  of  servants  was  prompt  to  desert 
the  sinking  ship.  A  buxom  kitchen-maid  offici- 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

ated  over  the  copper  stew-pans  of  the  departed 
chef.  Mrs.  Foljambe,  in  her  bed  with  nervous 
prostration,  in  charge  of  a  trained  nurse,  com- 
plained that  she  could  not  get  a  cup  of  bouillon 
fit  to  eat  since  Lenormand  had  left.  Next  the 
stables  were  depopulated.  Then  the  pictures  and 
curios  and  ceramics  were  sold  at  auction,  and 
the  house  was  offered  for  sale  by  the  assignee, 
to  whom  everything  had  been  surrendered.  As 
there  is  always  in  the  great  metropolis  some 
family  stepping  up  to  replace  one  that  chances  to 
step  down,  the  agents  effected  a  prompt 
"arrangement"  by  which  the  Foljambe  mansion, 
furniture  and  all,  passed  into  other  ownership. 

In  less  than  two  months  after  his  misfortune 
Mr.  Foljambe  stepped  out  alone  into  the  street, 
and  looked  back  upon  a  dwelling  in  which  he  had 
no  belongings  save  a  couple  of  modest  trunks 
and  several  portmanteaux  to  be  called  for  by  an 
expressman  later  on. 

Who  shall  say  that  Martin  Foljambe  did  not 
feel  a  lump  of  bitterness  in  his  throat  as  he  gave 
his  final  instructions  to  a  care-taker  and  walked 
hurriedly  away  into  the  avenue  whence  he 
could  no  longer  see  his  home?  It  had  been  at 
his  wife's  instigation  that  he  had  built  it;  she 
had  devised,  superintended,  ordered  everything 
on  a  scale  that  outshone  most  of  his  predeces- 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

sors  in  such  constructions  in  their  neighborhood. 
The  only  things  she  had  not  concerned  herself 
about  were  the  bills.  Enormous  as  they  were, 
he  had  paid  them  without  a  hint  to  her  that  she 
must  have  been  cheated  in  various  quarters. 
But  it  had  been  many  a  long  year  since  Mrs. 
Foljambe  had  concerned  herself  about  the  sum 
total  of  a  bill ! 

All — all — the  fruits  of  his  manhood's  work  had 
been  lavished  at  her  feet,  and  here,  when  he  was 
wounded  to  the  quick  by  the  jilt  Fortune,  his 
wife,  where  was  she?  Sailing  eastward  in  the 
best  rooms  of  a  crack  ocean  liner,  in  company 
with  her  lovely  Lilian,  without  whose  society  she 
had  declared  it  would  be  impossible  to  recover 
the  tone  of  her  shattered  nerves! 

It  was  really  the  only  thing  for  her  to  do,  so 
had  said  Mrs.  Foljambe  to  her  doctor,  reminding 
him  of  the  tremendous  help  she  had  previously 
derived  from  certain  baths  in  Germany.  The 
doctor,  wise  in  his  generation  and  well  aware  of 
what  was  expected  of  him,  had  suavely  acqui- 
esced. Mr.  Foljambe  was  informed  by  his  wife 
that  her  sole  chance  of  recovery  lay  in  the  jaunt 
in  question — and  as  to  expense,  it  was  a  real 
economy,  he  knew.  The  money  she  was  to  have 
at  her  disposal  was  a  sum  of  a  few  thousand  dol- 
lars which  had  been  given  to  her  years  before  by 
176 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

her  husband — which  he  had  invested  for  her 
in  her  own  name — and  which  had  chanced  to  have 
been  never  as  yet  spent  by  her.  So  the  state- 
room on  the  ship  had  been  taken  within  a  day  or 
two  after  she  had  announced  to  him  her  inten- 
tion of  going  abroad. 

Lilian,  clinging  to  her  father's  neck  with  tears 
and  caresses,  assured  him  that  she  did  not  want 
to  go ;  that  it  would  be  dull  as  ditchwater  for 
her,  and  that  she  should  always  be  thinking  of 
him  left  behind.  But  Lilian  was  overpowered, 
and  in  due  time  yielded  to  her  mother's  decree 
that  her  first  duty  was  to  her. 

Not  so  Olive.  Without  protestation,  without 
gush  over  her  father,  she  had  calmly  said  she 
had  no  idea  of  going  abroad  that  summer.  With 
the  help  of  her  friend  Luttridge  she  had  picked 
out  a  little  flat  on  the  west  side  of  the  Park, 
where  there  were  tree-tops  for  the  trouble  of 
going  to  the  window  and  a  delightful  sense  of 
being  out-of-doors.  The  sale  of  her  pearl  neck- 
lace had  paid  for  the  furniture.  She  retained  as 
cook  the  kitchen-maid  who  had  been  trained 
under  M.  Lenormand,  and  then,  when  all 
was  done,  announced  to  her  father  that  they 
— he,  she,  and  the  brother  recently  come  home 
from  college — were  going  there  to  live,  the 
other  brother  having  resigned  his  place  in  New 
177 


A    GIRL   OF   THE   PERIOD 

York  and  gone  to  the  West  to  grow  up  with  the 
country. 

The  evening  of  the  day  that  found  Martin  Fol- 
jambe  creeping  dejectedly  out  of  his  former 
mansion,  with  a  heart  in  his  bosom  heavy  as  the 
iron  that  had  seared  it,  brought  him  up-town  to 
see  for  the  first  time  Miss  Olive's  new  arrange- 
ments for  his  comfort. 

To  Martin,  past  the  age  for  picnics,  the  whole 
thing  appeared  but  a  mournful  makeshift.  But 
Olive  and  Luttridge,  who  came  in  to  dine  upon 
a  grilled  fowl  and  a  can  of  mock-turtle  soup,  and 
Tom,  the  recent  graduate,  who  was  charged  by 
Olive  "to  help  to  cheer  papa,"  laughed  and 
chaffed  and  made  merry  with  the  glorious  un- 
concern of  youth.  After  dinner,  when  the  two 
young  men  went  out  into  the  Park  to  smoke 
their  pipes,  Olive  sat  with  her  father  upon  a  sofa 
pinched  between  two  doorways  of  their  narrow 
sitting-room. 

"And  now  tell  me,  papa,"  she  said  with  alarm- 
ing briskness,  "just  what  I  may  expect  as  an 
allowance  to  keep  house  upon." 

He  explained  that  for  the  present  he  would 
have  nothing  he  could  call  his  own  except  the 
sum  the  assignee  was  paying  him  weekly  for  his 
services  in  assisting  to  wind  up  the  assigned 
estate  to  the  best  possible  advantage,  and  that, 
178 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

even  from  that,  certain  amounts  would  have  to 
be  deducted  for  use  for  things  other  than  mere 
housekeeping. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  she,  "we  shall  be  able  to 
live.  And  do  you  know,  I  already  love  this.  It 
is  like  a  honeymoon  without  the  bother  of  a 
husband.  You  will  have  an  excellent  draught  of 
air  through  your  bedroom.  I  forgot  to  tell  you 
that  I  got  a  note  to-day  from  Mrs.  Louis  Rush- 
more  offering  me  the  work  on  her  husband's 
notes  of  that  expedition  they  made  last  year 
to  Mexico.  Mrs.  Rushmore  started  in  herself  to 
put  them  in  shape  for  publication,  but  seems 
to  have  got  into  a  hole.  You  know,  it  is  to  be 
a  sort  of  'In  Memoriam'  for  Mr.  Rushmore,  pub- 
lished on  the  most  lavish  scale,  with  illustrations 
and  all  that.  She  recalled  that  when  we  all  met 
in  Mexico  Mr.  Rushmore  took  rather  a  fancy  to 
me  principally  because  I  was  the  only  person  of 
the  party  who  could  read  his  handwriting.  You 
remember,  he  got  me  to  copy  out  in  his  note-book 
certain  of  his  own  memoranda  that  he  couldn't 
decipher  to  save  himself?" 

"And  how,  pray,"  said  Mr.  Foljambe,  writh- 
ing upon  the  hard  little  sofa  Olive  and  Luttridge 
had  thought  so  artistic  in  design,  "did  Mrs. 
Rushmore  come  to  suppose  you  were  in  need  of 
employment?" 

179 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

"Because,  daddy  dear,  I've  been  foraging 
around  for  something  to  do,  for  a  month  past," 
said  the  girl,  frankly.  "You  know  I  am  nothing 
if  not  up  to  date.  I  expected  to  be  somebody's 
secretary,  thanks  to  my  good,  clear  handwriting. 
But  the  blessing  of  Mrs.  Rushmore's  work  is  that 
I  can  do  most  of  it  just  here,  and  at  the  same 
time  'boss'  the  maid,  who  might  get  tired  and 
bolt  if  she  were  left  too  much  to  herself." 

"Poor  Rushmore  died  just  while  he  was  decid- 
ing to  go  into  San  Miguel  with  me,"  remarked 
Mr.  Foljambe.  "He  was  one  of  the  careful, 
conservative  kind — while  I — " 

"Don't  be  ashamed  of  your  spirit  of  daring — 
don't,  papa;  you  share  it  liberally  with  me!" 
said  Olive,  gayly.  "I  haven't  the  vaguest  idea 
of  what  San  Miguel  was  or  is,  but  I'm  perfectly 
sure  I'd  have  gone  into  it  and  left  Mr.  Rush- 
more  trembling  on  the  brink." 

"It  was  one  of  my  failures,  dear — a  mining 
speculation  that  promised  everything,  and  flat- 
tened out  in  a  year  or  two.  If  I  had  the  money 
now  that  my  holdings  in  that  stock  represent  to 
me,  it  wouldn't  be  long  before  I  should  be  out 
of  this  pit,  I  tell  you.  Until  I  was  failing,  I  hardly 
counted  the  cost  of  it.  What  it  has  cost  me 
amounted  to  a  fortune  in  itself;  and  I  hold — or 
rather  my  assignee  for  the  benefit  of  my  cred- 
180 


A   GIRL  OF  THE   PERIOD 

itors  now  holds — a  strong  majority  of  the  whole 
capital  stock.  But  within  the  last  few  years 
there  has  been  no  work  done  in  the  mine  except 
what  the  sale  of  ore  extracted  would  pay  for — 
which  has  not  been  much — and  the  stock  cannot 
now  be  sold  for  even  a  penny  a  share.  Indeed  I 
advised  the  assignee  to-day  to  sell  the  shares  to 
anybody  who  will  offer  anything  whatever  for 
them,  and  to  do  it  quickly,  before  the  chap  can 
change  his  mind.  Olive,  my  child,  whether  you 
succeed  or  not  in  your  Rushmore  business,  I'm 
proud  of  you  for  taking  up  the  first  work  that 
comes  to  hand.  But  there's  one  thing  I  ought  to 
ask — how  long  is  Luttridge  going  to  be  satisfied 
to  do  without  you?" 

"Of  course,  papa,  he  was  deadly  foolish,"  said 
Olive,  crimsoning.  "He  wanted  to  be  married 
right  away,  and  come  in  here,  the  saucy  fellow. 
But  I've  stuck  to  my  ultimatum  of  last  autumn. 
When  he  gets  enough  to  keep  us  without  my 
being  a  drag  on  him,  I'll  say  'yes.'  Just  now  I 
wouldn't  leave  you  for  all  the  world.  Every 
minute  of  this  day  I've  been  thinking  of  your 
getting  home  and  finding  everything  so  nice." 

Foljambe's  heart  reproached  him  for  his  con- 
tempt  of   her  poor  devisings.     He  caught  his 
brave  little  woman  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  as 
he  had  not  done  in  years. 
181 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

Olive's  interest  in  deciphering  the  Rushmore 
hieroglyphics  grew  with  the  continuance  of  her 
work,  which  daily  opened  out  into  new  channels 
of  discovery  and  information.  Mrs.  Rushmore, 
rejoiced  to  find  she  had  not  misplaced  her 
confidence  in  the  girl's  ability,  went  off  to 
Europe,  leaving  the  whole  charge  of  the  book  in 
Miss  Olive's  hands,  together  with  a  very  liberal 
sum  to  be  paid  her  in  weekly  installments  in 
remuneration,  and  the  promise  of  more  to  follow 
when  the  work  should  be  finished.  Foljambe 
himself,  in  better  health  and  spirits  for  his 
daughter's  guardian  care,  found  that,  on  the 
whole,  his  enjoyment  of  life  was  rather  increased 
than  diminished.  His  younger  son  rejoiced  his 
family  by  finding  employment  as  secretary  to  one 
of  his  father's  old  friends,  who  was  primarily  to 
take  him  off  for  a  summer  of  travel  through 
the  wonders  of  the  far  West.  Letters  from  Mrs. 
Foljambe,  while  giving  gratifying  assurance  of 
her  physical  improvement  and  of  the  usual  im- 
pression made  by  Lilian's  beauty  upon  casual 
grandees,  did  not  now  touch  a  sore  spot  in  Mar- 
tin's heart,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  wound 
was  healing  under  Olive's  influence. 

Summer  came,  and  Olive,  at  her  desk  heaped 
with   dictionaries,    encyclopedias,  and   works  of 
reference,    transferred    from   Mrs.    Rushmore 's 
182 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

library,  had  hardly  time  to  wonder  if  she  were 
herself.  While  all  the  other  young  women  of 
her  acquaintance  were  preparing  gowns  for  their 
holiday  campaign,  going  off  to  lovely  country 
homes  with  keen  zest  for  the  outdoor  life  that 
had  previously  been  her  greatest  joy,  or  taking 
wing  for  Europe,  she  in  her  trim  cotton  gown 
sat  down  by  nine  o'clock  to  spend  all  the  morn- 
ing hours  in  close  devotion  to  her  task  in  hand. 

With  her  mental  energies  thus  healthily  astir, 
her  faculties  bent  upon  elucidating  and  compil- 
ing interesting  facts,  she  was  really  happy  and 
at  her  best.  She  could  truly  say  that  she  envied 
no  one  in  the  world. 

"After  all,  it's  no  more  than  you,  and  Stephen 
Luttridge,  and  lots  of  nice,  clever  men  who 
deserve  just  as  much  of  the  pleasure  of  life  as  I 
do,  are  doing  every  day,"  she  said  one  evening, 
when  her  father  told  her  she  was  a  chip  of  the 
old  block  as  far  as  working  was  concerned. 
"And  while  you  are  endowing  me  with  your 
attributes,  daddy,  give  me  your  pluck  and  — 
something  higher,  please.  Even  if  I  weren't 
getting  paid  for  it  at  the  best  market  rates,  I'd 
never  begrudge  this  summer,  that's  brought  me 
to  know  my  own  dear  father  as  he  is.  Thank 
goodness,  there  comes  Stephen  to  take  me  for 
a  walk.  All  this  bottled-up  energy  of  mine  is 
'83 


A   GIRL  OF  THE   PERIOD 

fearful  if  I  get  no  physical  outlet  in  the  day. 
Daddy,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  I've  been  brushing 
up  my  Spanish  latterly.  I've  had  two  lessons  a 
week  from  a  cheap  and  solemn  little  don 
Stephen  found  for  me.  So  many  of  my  Mexican 
letters  are  in  Spanish  I  found  it  almost  necessary 
to  know  their  language  better.  To-day  my  little 
professor  made  me  his  farewell,  and  we  had  a 
conversation  in  his  own  tongue  that  would  have 
startled  you — I  really  think  I  talked  faster  than 
he  did — if  not  so  grammatically." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  replied  her  father,  looking 
at  her  admiringly.  If  Olive  had  told  him  she 
had  taken  a  prize  for  an  essay  in  any  branch  of 
science  after  two  months  of  study  he  would 
hardly  have  doubted  her. 

It  was  harder  work  when  the  heat  of  July 
struck  the  city.  Olive,  yielding  to  her  father's 
solicitation,  went  off  then  for  a  week  to  a  friend 
in  the  country,  but  came  back  determined  not  to 
try  the  experiment  again.  She  was  out  of  all 
touch  with  the  people  she  met  at  the  Claverings' 
house  party.  Kind  as  they  meant  to  be  to  her, 
she  had  lost  the  shibboleth,  the  habit  of  thought 
and  speech,  that  could  make  her  one  of  their  circle. 
And  if,  on  her  return  to  town,  thoughts  would 
intrude  of  wide,  smooth-shaven  emerald  lawns, 
great  forest  trees  parting  to  reveal  vistas  of  hill 
184 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

and  lake,  flower-beds  blazoning  the  turf,  rides 
on  horseback,  days  on  the  golf  links,  and  long, 
delightful  country  walks,  she  had  courage  to  put 
them  aside.  But  all  this  happened  to  be  at  the 
time  of  Luttridge's  holiday;  when,  seeing  how 
much  he  needed  change  from  office  work,  Olive 
had,  in  her  own  bright,  imperious  way,  insisted 
that  her  lover  should  go  off  to  the  Maine  woods 
for  a  fortnight's  fishing,  without  regard  to  her. 
And  Stephen,  albeit  reluctantly,  had  acquiesced. 
One  morning,  as  she  sat  down  to  her  desk,  the 
ancient  Aztecs  seemed  for  a  while  to  be  more 
than  ever  distressingly  remote  and  uninteresting; 
then  the  maid  came  in  with  a  long  chapter  of 
complaints  about  the  iniquities  of  the  janitor  and 
butcher  boy.  When  that  was  over,  Olive's  eye 
fell  upon  her  calendar.  It  was  the  day  when, 
the  year  before,  the  Foljambes  had  been  giving 
their  great  ball  at  Newport,  accounts  of  which 
were  cabled  over  sea,  and  had  filled  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  Western  Hemisphere.  Of  what 
consequence  were  the  Foljambes  now  to  the 
world  that  had  courted  them? 

"Evidently,"  thought  Olive,  dashing  into  her 
papers,  with  an  heroic  attempt  to  fix  her  mind 
upon  them,  "it  does  me  no  good  to  go  a-junket- 
ing.  Between  me  and  my  other  life  a  gulf  is  fixed 
that  I  should  be  wiser  not  to  attempt  to  bridge." 
185 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

A  ring  at  the  gong-bell  of  the  flat!  So  sharp 
a  ring  as  to  make  her  start  like  a  guilty  creature. 
This  interruption  brought  her  to  the  discovery 
that,  for  the  first  time  since  her  change  of  abode 
and  habit,  she  had  been  crying  over  "things." 
Katrina's  arrival  with  a  dingy  card  revealed  the 
name  of  a  Mexican,  an  ex-journalist,  employed 
by  Mrs.  Rushmore  to  make  certain  researches  of 
which  the  result  was  to  be  reported  to  Olive  her- 
self. In  her  capacity  of  editor,  the  latter  had 
already  received  several  communications  from 
this  Mr.  Ramirez. 

"But  there  are  two,"  whispered  Olive,  who, 
from  her  little  study  divided  by  curtains  from 
their  only  reception-room,  could  distinctly  hear 
voices  and  footsteps. 

"Yes,  m'm;  but  one  of  the  gentlemen  didn't 
give  a  card.  He's  a — a  person,  m'm — not  a 
caller,  and  he's  jabbering  away  for  dear  life  in 
French  or  Eyetalian  or  Rooshan,  or  some  o' 
them  desperate  tongues,  to  the  other  one,  m'm. 
Shall  I  say  you'll  be  out  directly,  Miss  Fol- 
jambe?" 

"Yes,  Katrina,  and  bring  me  a  glass  of  water," 
said  Olive,  meekly.  She  was  glad  to  remain 
alone  for  a  little  while,  subduing  her  nervous  fit, 
and  swabbing  the  marks  of  tears  around  her 
eyes.  In  her  present  unwonted  resentment 

1 86 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

against  existing  circumstances  she  was  even 
inclined  to  eschew  the  ancient  Aztecs  and  the 
whole  splendid  inheritance  they  have  left  to 
posterity  in  the  New  World. 

"It  is  really  the  heat  that  has  got  the  better 
of  me,"  she  thought.  "But  how  much  worse 
for  poor  Katrina  in  that  little  burning-glass  of  a 
kitchen !  I  am  ashamed  of  myself.  I  will,  posi- 
tively, never  do  so  any  more." 

The  voices  of  her  waiting  visitors,  at  first  sub- 
dued to  the  ordinary  pitch  of  a  stranger's  tones 
upon  entering  an  unfamiliar  place,  here  forced 
themselves  upon  her  aural  consciousness.  The 
men  were  speaking  in  Spanish,  and  certainly  not 
of  the  matters  Olive  was  expected  .to  hold  in 
common  interest  with  Ramirez. 

"It  is  not  the  first  time,  Juan,  that  you  have 
tempted  me  with  ventures;  and  they  have  always 
come  to  nothing.  I  haven't  the  money  to  spare, 
I  tell  you;  and  that's  flat." 

"There  is  no  mistake  this  time,  Ramirez.  If 
I  could  only  make  you  believe  me!  If  you  do 
not  accept,  I  go  to  Senor  Mores,  who,  when  he 
knows  the  facts,  will  take  me  up  quickly.  Think 
of  it!  A  beggarly  sum  in  hand,  we  buy  out  the 
San  Miguel  stock  from  a  man  who  does  not 
know  its  value,  and  our  fortunes  are  made  for- 
ever. ' ' 

187 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

San  Miguel  stock !  In  a  flash  it  came  to  Olive 
that  her  father  was  the  chief  owner  of  San  Miguel 
stock. 

"Why  do  you  think  I  came  to  New  York?" 
went  on  the  eager  speaker.  "For  the  pleasure  of 
that  long,  bone-breaking  journey  across  the  con- 
tinent, eh?  Or  to  pass  a  month  in  this  city, 
where  a  poor  man  is  ruined  by  charges  if  he 
demands  to  eat  or  drink?  Why  did  I  fasten  my- 
self to  you  to-day,  and  follow  you  here,  when  you 
showed  no  desire  for  my  company?  Because  I 
wanted  to  get  ahead  of  another  man  who  will 
arrive  to-morrow  morning.  Am  I  to  fail  because 
you,  my  oldest  friend,  will  not  help  me  to  raise 
the  money?  It  is  not  a  'fake,'  as  you  call  it  in 
English.  I  swear  to  you  that  I  speak  the  truth. 
San  Miguel  is  up,  up — on  the  top  of  the  wave. 
In  two  days  the  newspapers  will  have  the  news 
of  their  rich  find.  Here  is  a  telegram  I  received 
on  arrival  at  my  hotel,  a  few  hours  since.  The 
secret  was  to  be  kept  only  till  Latimer,  the  clever 
man  of  their  syndicate,  should  have  had  time  to 
reach  New  York  and  visit  Mr.  Foljambe. " 

"Foljambe!  Caramba!  Hold  your  tongue!" 
hissed  Ramirez. 

There  was  a  sudden  hush.  The  conversation 
passed  into  whispers.  Olive,  trembling  with 
excitement,  slipped  back  into  her  bedroom,  put 
188 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

on  her  hat,  seized  gloves  and  parasol,  and  darted 
out  to  the  rear  of  the  flat  to  interview  Katrina. 

"I  cannot  receive  those  men  now,  Katrina," 
said  the  young  lady,  breathlessly.  "Give  me  full 
time  to  get  out  of  their  way,  and  then — but  not 
until  they  call  you — tell  them  I  am  not  at  home." 

"It's  not  sneak-thieves  they'd  be,  Miss  Fol- 
jambe,  and  you  goin'  to  call  up  the  police?"  the 
maid  asked  with  natural  emotion. 

"No,  no,  Katrina.  They  will  do  no  harm. 
But  I  cannot  stop  to  see  them.  It  is  a  matter  of 
important  business  for  me  to  attend  to.  Some- 
thing I  have  found  out  that  I  must  see  my  father 
about,  without  delay.  Mind,  you  are  on  no 
account  to  give  these  men,  if  they  ask  for  it,  Mr. 
Foljambe's  address  downtown." 

"Trust  me,  miss,"  said  the  woman,  impor- 
tantly. "They'd  never  be  gettin'  me  to  let  on 
where  they'd  find  the  master,  poor  gentleman, 
after  all  the  troubles  he's  had  already." 

Olive,  considering  every  moment's  delay  of 
the  men  a  clear  gain,  and  reckless  of  the  evident 
belief  of  her  honest  handmaiden  that  she  was 
going  to  warn  her  father  to  flee  from  the 
myrmidons  of  justice,  hurried  out  of  the  front 
door. 

Katrina,  anxious  to  fulfill  the  trust  imposed  in 
her,  tarried  inconceivably  long;  when  Ramirez, 
189 


A    GIRL   OF   THE   PERIOD 

his  patience  exhausted,  rang  her  up  for  the 
fourth  or  fifth  time,  the  woman  sauntered  into 
the  room  wearing  an  air  of  defiance  blended  with 
cunning.  Between  Ramirez's  scant  supply  of 
colloquial  English  and  Katrina's  voluble  mysti- 
fications the  two  men  were  fairly  routed.  The 
Mexican,  putting  his  papers  upon  the  table, 
finally  beat  a  retreat. 

But  he  reckoned  without  his  enemy. 

"Maybe  it's  me  you  think  would  be  serving 
yer  dirty  summonses  upon  the  master!"  cried 
she,  as,  exploding  with  wrath,  she  picked  up  the 
envelope  and  thrust  it  back  on  him. 

"Come  away,  Ramirez;  the  creature  is  cer- 
tainly mad,"  said  the  other,  nervously.  To  his 
mind  this  delay  about  trivialities,  when  he  had  a 
fortune  in  his  grasp,  was  insanity  on  Ramirez's 

part  as  well. 

*          *          *          *          * 

Fleet  of  foot  and  full  of  courage,  Olive  sped 
upon  her  way.  Reaching  the  nearest  station  of 
the  elevated  railway  she  boarded  a  car  and  fell 
into  a  seat,  looking  back  in  actual  fear  of  finding 
herself  overtaken  by  the  two  Mexicans  whom 
she  had  eluded.  After  all,  was  it  not  a  will-o'- 
the-wisp  she  was  pursuing?  As  it  often  hap- 
pened to  her  in  acting  upon  impulse,  the  first 
cool  moment — though  that  did  not  come  until 
190 


A   GIRL  OF  THE   PERIOD 

the  train  was  well  on  the  way  downtown — 
brought  its  pangs  of  self-distrust. 

But  nothing  could  go  wrong  about  visiting 
her  own  dear  father  and  confiding  in  him  her — 
A  sudden  jarring  of  the  wheels  upon  the  rails, 
a  shock — what  was  it?  Olive,  together  with  the 
other  passengers  in  her  end  of  the  car,  was  shot 
forward  violently,  all  falling  in  a  heap.  Then 
came  a  crash,  a  sound  of  shivered  glass,  some 
screams  from  frightened  women,  and  at  last  a 
full  stop — after  which  people  picked  themselves 
up  and  wondered  whether  or  not  they  were  badly 
hurt. 

Coming  around  a  curve  they  had  run  into  the 
rear  end  of  a  train  stopped  unexpectedly  ahead 
of  them  because  of  a  breakdown  of  its  engine. 
There  were  no  serious  bodily  injuries,  but  there 
was  much  agitation  and  every  prospect  of  a  long 
delay  before  the  track  could  be  cleared  and  the 
train  could  proceed.  Olive,  the  worse  only  for 
a  badly  battered  hat,  a  broken  sunshade,  some 
damage  to  her  clothes,  and  a  scratch  across  her 
brow,  had  her  hands  full  for  a  time  with  pacify- 
ing other  more  nervous  women  and  crying  chil- 
dren, who  could  not  be  persuaded  they  were  not 
doomed  to  fall  into  the  street  below. 

When  at  last  she  had  succeeded  in  getting  to 
the  plank-walk  along  the  side  of  the  railway 
191 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

track,  and  had  thus,  with  the  assistance  of  a 
train  hand,  reached  the  next  station,  she  de- 
scended to  the  level  of  Mother  Earth  with  her 
feelings  somewhat  dashed.  In  her  forlorn  plight 
she  was  not  fit  to  be  seen  on  the  streets,  and 
indeed  the  condition  of  her  hat  was  so  shocking 
as  to  make  her  hesitate  to  enter  a  public  vehicle. 
There  was  not  a  cab  in  sight,  but  after  a  rapid 
walk  to  Broadway  she  discovered  a  great  whole- 
sale warehouse  where,  when  she  had  explained 
that  she  had  just  been  in  a  collision  on  the  rail- 
way, they  allowed  her  to  purchase  a  cheap  straw 
hat  that  was  at  least  better  than  the  one  she  dis- 
carded. 

More  delays!  The  cable-car,  into  which  she 
finally  got,  ran  along  peacefully  enough  to  just 
below  Canal  Street,  where  a  block  occurred, 
necessitating  an  attempt  at  possession  of  her  soul 
in  patience  until  the  moments  grew  to  feel  like 
hours. 

Unable  to  endure  it  longer,  she  sprang  to  the 
ground,  crossing  through  a  jam  of  vehicles  to 
the  sidewalk,  then  stood  looking  up  and  down 
for  a  cab.  Everybody  stared  at  her,  until  she 
was  afraid  she  might  be  arrested  upon  a  charge 
of  drunkenness,  because  of  her  excitement  and 
of  her  battered  appearance. 

Her  face  flamed  with  heat  and  exertion.  The 
192 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

wound  in  her  forehead  streaked  her  handkerchief 
with  blood.  It  was  very  near  mid-day.  Lacking 
a  parasol,  the  sun's  ardor  seemed  to  her  more 
oppressive  than  it  had  ever  been  before.  And, 
as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  the  passing  cabs  at 
that  hour,  in  midsummer,  and  in  that  portion  of 
the  town,  were  so  few  and  far  between,  that  not 
one,  not  already  occupied,  came  along  until  she 
was  ready  to  cry  with  anxiety.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  ever  been  there  alone. 

Poor  Olive  felt  her  courage  oozing  out  at  her 
finger  tips.  After  all,  would  not  she  be  laughed 
at  by  her  father  as  a  mistaken  busybody,  con- 
cerning herself  with  affairs  of  which  she  had 
no  knowledge?  And  as  the  sun  beat  upon  a 
pavement  swarming  with  alien  folk  who  jostled 
and  stared  at  her,  she  almost  gave  up  in 
despair. 

"You  make  some  mistakes,  my  impetuous  lit- 
tle Olive,"  had  Stephen  Luttridge  said  to  her  a 
few  days  before  they  parted,  "and — perhaps — 
commit  some  follies.  But  your  intuitions  are 
the  keenest,  your  pluck  the  best,  I  have  ever 
seen  in  a  woman.  And  I  promise  you  now,  I 
am  going  to  stand  by  them  both,  so  long  as  we 
both  shall  live." 

How  Olive  had  glowed  with  pride  at  her  lover's 
eulogy!  As  it  here  came  to  her  memory,  she 
193 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

turned  bravely  around  facing  the  Battery,  and 
started  to  walk. 

The  pain  in  her  head  was  growing;  she  felt  a 
sensation  of  dizziness.  In  all  that  crowd,  press- 
ing her  onward  or  coming  to  meet  her,  there  was 
not  a  familiar  face,  or  one  to  whom  she  could 
appeal. 

At  this  moment,  a  blue-coated  officer  crossed 
the  line  of  her  uncertain  vision.  Olive  ran  for- 
ward, laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and 
besought  him  to  get  a  carriage  for  her.  The 
man,  scrutinizing  her  closely,  ended — to  his 
eternal  credit,  be  it  said — by  speaking  civilly. 

"There's  one  coming  now,  Miss,  if  you  think 
you'd  be  fit  to  drive  alone.  Perhaps  you'd  bet- 
ter step  into  a  drug  store  till  your  head  cools 
down  a  bit." 

"Oh!  no,  no.  I  am  all  right,  officer;  I  only 
want  to  gel  to  my  father's  office,  No.  —  Wall 
Street,  please.  Tell  the  driver  to  take  me 
quickly,  and  I'll  thank  you  very,  very  much." 

Once  inside  the  friendly  hansom,  Olive's  cour- 
age flowed  back  in  a  full  stream.  For  half  a 
mile  or  more  she  lay  at  ease  upon  the  cushions, 
fanned  herself,  arranged  her  hat  and  veil  anew, 
thought  of  her  father's  kind  pity  for  her  mis- 
chances, and  rejoiced  in  finding  him — when, 
presto!  the  horse  was  down  upon  his  knees  and 
194 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

badly  damaged,  the  passenger  shooting  forward, 
her  wrist  twisted  in  the  attempt  to  prevent  her- 
self from  falling  further. 

A  crowd  gathered  about  them.  Olive,  assisted 
to  alight,  protested  that  she  was  not  hurt;  and  a 
good  Samaritan,  who  saw  the  girl's  pallid  cheeks, 
led  her  into  a  neighboring  doorway,  summoning 
another  cab. 

"You  must  let  me  take  you  to  your  destina- 
tion, though,"  said  the  gentleman  who  had  aided 
her.  "I  happen  to  have  daughters  of  my  own 
about  your  age,  and  should  be  very  sorry  to 
have  one  of  them  left  to  shift  for  herself  under 
these  circumstances." 

"It  can't  be  so  very  far  now  to  my  father's 
office  in  Wall  Street,"  replied  Olive,  suppressing 
the  pain  of  her  injured  wrist.  "I  am  dreadfully 
anxious  to  get  to  my  father's  place  of  business." 

She  mentioned  his  name,  and  the  gentleman 
took  off  his  hat — but  was  evidently  puzzled  by 
her  forlorn  appearance. 

"I  have  good  reason  to  know  Martin  Fol- 
jambe,"  he  said,  courteously.  "But  for  his 
generous  action  a  few  months  ago — something  he 
need  not  have  done,  but  chose  to  do — I  should 
have  been  hard  hit.  My  name  is  Whitwell,  and 
I  beg  you  to  give  yourself  no  further  con- 
cern, Miss  Foljambe.  I  shall  surrender  you 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

safely  to  your  father's  keeping  in  a  very  little 
while." 

"Oh,  if  it  is  not  too  late!"  exclaimed  she,  for 
the  first  time  losing  her  self-control. 

"You  are  late  for  luncheon,  if  that's  what  you 
mean;  but  I  dare  say  Mr.  Foljambe  will  look  out 
for  you.  It  is  always  a  treat  to  my  young 
women  to  descend  upon  me  for  their  mid-day 
meal,  and  I  am  well  broken  in  to  supplying  them. ' ' 

When  they  stopped  before  the  desired  building 
and  Olive  offered  him  her  purse  to  pay  the  cab, 
her  kind  friend  declined,  of  course,  to  receive  it, 
but  observed  that  her  cheeks  had  again  grown 
very  white.  In  crossing  the  hall  to  the  elevator 
he  made  her  lean  upon  his  arm,  and  as  they  shot 
up  to  the  floor  upon  which  Martin  Foljambe  now 
transacted  his  affairs,  in  the  office  of  his  assignee, 
her  escort  felt  that  she  was  trembling  painfully. 

"I  am  growing  weaker,"  thought  poor  Olive 
to  herself.  "How  wretched  to  frighten  papa  like 
this.  Oh,  I  must  not,  I  will  not  faint!  I  will 
hold  out  till  I  tell  him  about  San  Miguel." 

"Courage,  my  child,"  said  Mr.  Whitwell. 
"In  one  moment  you'll  be  there." 

At  the  end  of  a  long  corridor  they  saw  the 
names  they  had  come  in  search  of. 

"He  is  in,  Miss  Foljambe,"  said  the  young 
man  to  whom  she  had  put  the  query,  "but  I  am 
196 


A   GIRL  OF  THE   PERIOD 

sorry  to  say  our  orders  are  that  Mr.  Foljambe  i§ 
not  to  be  interrupted.  He  is  receiving  some 
gentlemen  on  important  business." 

"Two  foreigners?"  asked  the  girl,  forcing  her- 
self to  speak  calmly. 

"I  think  so,  Miss  Foljambe.  I  was  out  at 
lunch  when  they  called,  but  I  understood  they 
are  Spanish  gentlemen,  and  Mr.  Foljambe's 
orders  were  most  explicit  that  he  is  not  to  be 
disturbed." 

Olive  never  knew  how  her  strength  held  out 
to  march  past  the  astonished  clerk,  tap  at  the 
door  of  her  father's  room,  and  follow  this  up  by 
entering  the  forbidden  portal.  Quite  two  hours 
had  passed  since  she  had  quitted  her  home  upon 
her  mission  of  warning.  There  had  been  full 
time  for  "Juan"  to  induce  Ramirez  to  decide 
upon  their  plan  of  action,  find  out  Mr.  Fol- 
jambe's habitat  downtown,  and  proceed  without 
interruption  to  the  spot. 

As  already  stated,  Foljambe  had  decided  that 
the  mine  was  worthless,  and  had  advised  his 
assignee  to  sell  the  San  Miguel  stock  at  what- 
ever price  it  would  fetch.  When,  therefore,  the 
two  Mexicans  had  appeared — offering  for  it  a 
merely  nominal  sum,  to  be  sure,  but  accompany- 
ing their  proposition  with  the  guileless  explana- 
tion that,  as  Juan  lived  near  the  mine  and  had  a 
197 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

little  money,  he  was  willing  to  risk  something 
on  the  venture  of  becoming  part  owner  of  the 
property,  though  it  seemed  to  be  of  no  real  value 
— Martin  considered  himself  in  luck.  He 
thought  that  here  was  a  windfall,  though  certainly 
not  a  large  one. 

While  Ramirez,  interpreting  for  his  friend 
Juan,  was  in  the  very  act  of  urging  an  immedi- 
ate acceptance,  so  that  a  matter  of  so  little 
importance  might  be  closed  without  further 
bother,  and  while  Foljambe  was  holding  back 
with  an  attempt  to  prove  his  indifference,  mak- 
ing excuse  that  the  assignee  would  arrive  pres- 
ently and  they  could  then  decide  the  matter, 
Olive  had  burst  into  the  room. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  papa,"  she  said,  fright- 
ened and  faltering;  "there  has  been  a  little 
accident,  and  I  must  speak  to  you  alone." 
v  Foljambe,  much  startled,  put  his  arm  around 
his  daughter's  shoulders,  placed  her  in  a  chair, 
and  requested  his  visitors  to  wait  in  another 
room  until  the  return  of  the  gentleman  through 
whose  hands  the  matter  must  pass.  As  they 
went  out  Ramirez  darted  upon  the  almost  faint- 
ing girl  a  look  of  suspicion  and  resentment. 

"What   is   it,    my   dear?"  asked  the    father, 
anxiously.      "What  in  the  world   has   brought 
you  down  here  alone,  and  in  this  condition?" 
198 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

"Your  friend,  Mr.  Whitwell,  papa.  He  is 
waiting  outside,  I  think;  but  never  mind  him  or 
my  appearance  or  anything,  till  I  ask  you  if  you 
have  sold  your  San  Miguel  stock." 
*".  "Good  heavens!"  cried  Martin;  "and  what  do 
you  know,  you  kitten,  about  San  Miguel  stock?" 

"Only  that  it's  lip — up — on  the  top  of  the 
wave,"  she  cried,  breathlessly,  repeating  what 
Juan  had  told  in  her  hearing  to  Ramirez.  "That 
they  have  made  a  rich  strike  of  ore.  This  man 
I  saw  here  just  now  has  crossed  the  continent  at 
top  speed  to  buy  you  out;  and  another  person — 
somebody  called  Latimer,  who,  he  says,  is  the 
clever  man  of  the  syndicate — will  be  in  New 
York  to-morrow  morning  for  the  same  purpose. 
Oh,  papa,  if  you  have  sold  San  Miguel  it  will 
break  my  heart!" 

"By  George,  I  haven't;  but  you  were  just  in 
time!"  cried  Foljambe,  greatly  excited.  "It's 
the  closest  call  I  ever  had  in  all  my  business 
life.  How  on  earth  you  found  out,  Olive,  beats 
me.  But  if  it's  true — good  heavens,  child,  how 
did  you  find  it  out?" 

"They  were  at  our  house  this  morning — talk- 
ing together  in  Spanish,"  she  said,  her  voice 
beginning  to  sound  to  her  further  and  further 
away — "and  I  remembered  what  you  had  told 
me  'about  San  Miguel.  I  started  without  wait- 
199 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

ing  a  minute  to  find  you,  but  the  elevated  train 
broke  down,  and  there  was  a  block  on  the  cable 
cars — it  was  very  hot — then  my  hansom  horse 
fell  down,  and  I  hurt  my  wrist — I'm  afraid,  papa, 
it's  beginning  to  make  me  feel — a  little  weak." 

She  could  articulate  no  longer.  Her  words 
trailed  off  into  incoherency.  The  long  strain 
had  been  too  much  for  her.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  Olive  fainted  dead  away. 

Juan  and  Ramirez  knew  their  game  was  up — 
knew  it  before  a  message  came  to  them  from  the 
room  where  Mr.  Foljambe  was  occupiedln  restor- 
ing his  daughter  to  consciousness,  where  Mr. 
Whitwell,  summoned  to  come  in,  was  explaining 
the  circumstances  of  his  encounter  with  the  lit- 
tle heroine. 

For  the  visit  and  proposition  of  Mr.  Latimer, 
which  occurred  the  morning  following  that  of 
Ramirez  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Foljambe  was  suffi- 
ciently prepared.  Latimer's  surprise  when  his 
offer  to  buy  was  declined  outright,  as  was  also 
his  rapid  increase  of  the  amount  first  suggested 
as  a  fair  equivalent  for  worthless  stock,  all  this 
is  written  on  the  tablets  of  Martin  Foljambe's 
memory.  He  will  probably  never  cease  chuck- 
ling over  it  as  a  pendant  to  his  daughter's  clever 
interference. 

Olive  went  on  with  the  Rushmore  memorial 

200 


A   GIRL   OF  THE   PERIOD 

(which  in  due  time  appeared  in  print,  with  great 
credit  to  the  editor)  until  her  father,  coming  in 
one  unbearably  hot  evening,  gave  her  the  wel- 
come tidings  that  San  Miguel  had  set  him  on  his 
feet  again. 

"We  shall  be  rich  again,  my  girl,  thanks  to 
your  grit  and  common-sense,"  he  added,  bending 
over  the  sofa,  where  she  reclined,  rather  languid 
and  overdone  and  trembling  with  excitement. 
"And  about  the  first  use  I  shall  make  of  spare 
funds  will  be  to  set  up  you  and  Stephen.  I  take 
it,  from  what  your  mother  writes,  Lillian  will 
marry  that  Captain]  Ramsdell.  I  don't  care 
a  hang  about  his  being  next  in  succession  to  a 
baronet,  but  I  do  like  his  asking  her  when  he 
thought  she  had  lost  her  money." 

"The  bell!"  cried  Olive,  springing  to  her  feet 
as  the  welcome  annunciator  sounded.  "Glad  as 
I  am  of  your  splendid  news,  papa,  I  am  gladder 
still  that  to-night  has  brought  Stephen  back." 

"I  had  quite  forgotten  that  little  circum- 
stance," remarked  Martin,  as  she  flew  by  him 
like  a  whirlwind  to  meet  her  lover  in  the  hall. 


201 


THE  STOLEN  STRADIVARIUS 


THE  STOLEN  STRADIVARIUS 


In  a  low  chair,  drawn  up  to  secure  the  full 
light  of  a  Welsbach  burner,  a  little  woman  sat 
darning  stockings.  Although  full  forty  years  of 
age,  she  was  astonishingly  young  and  fresh. 
Her  dark  hair,  twisted  in  a  shining  coil  at  the 
back  of  a  small,  well-shaped  head,  her  rosy  lips 
and  white  teeth,  the  look  of  alert  interest  in  her 
hazel  eyes,  the  plain  but  becomingly  arranged 
dress,  all  suggested  that  her  present  condition  of 
solitude  was  incidental  rather  than  habitual. 

The  room  in  which  Mrs.  Blair's  deft  needle 
repaired  the  havoc  of  stalwart  feet  in  their  daily 
walks  to  and  from  the  money-getting  haunts  of 
men,  was  clearly  the  resort  of  culture  untainted 
by  vulgarity.  On  the  second  floor  of  a  small 
three-story  dwelling  in  a  street  unknown  to  mod- 
ern fashion,  years  of  use  as  a  family  gathering 
place  had  toned  its  modest  belongings  into  har- 
monious attractiveness.  If  the  furniture  was 
worn,  it  better  accorded  with  the  russet  and 
dun  hues  of  the  old  books  covering  half  the 
205 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

walls;  and  the  drawn  curtains  of  faded  crimson 
stuff  did  not  rebuke  the  faint  odor  of  tobacco  that 
lingered  in  their  folds.  Above  the  books  hung 
numerous  good  engravings,  photographs,  and 
etchings  that  lifted  thought  and  piqued  imagina- 
tion with  suggestions  of  the  wide  world's  beauty 
and  romantic  history.  In  the  most  isolated  cor- 
ner a  substantial  table,  littered  with  papers,  a 
letter-press,  a  stray  pipe  or  two,  a  big  common- 
sense  inkstand  and  writing  pad,  with  a  rack  of 
books  of  reference,  betrayed  the  snug  harbor 
of  a  male  brain-worker;  while  a  stand  of  blos- 
soming plants  in  a  south  window,  a  tea-table  set 
with  bits  of  quaint  silver,  and  a  couple  of  becush- 
ioned  wicker  chairs  indicated  a  woman's  idea  of 
dulce  domum. 

This  room  was,  in  fact,  the  common  property  of 
a  busy  married  pair  and  their  busy  children, 
who  rightly  considered  their  reunions  in  its 
pleasant  precincts  to  be  a  fair  equivalent  for 
other  things  denied  them  by  Dame  Fortune. 

The  house  and  its  furniture,  with  a  small  sum 
of  ready  money,  had  been  the  portion  given  to 
Molly  Christian  on  her  marriage,  two-and-twenty 
years  before,  with  Terence  Blair.  He  was  a 
good-looking,  well-bred,  clever  Irishman,  who, 
coming  over  to  the  New  World  to  make  a  living 
out  of  journalism,  had  at  once  anchored  himself 
206 


THE   STOLEN  STRADIVARIUS 

happily  by  falling  in  love  with  and  winning  the 
prettiest  and  best-balanced  girl  of  his  acquaint- 
ance in  New  York. 

Mr.  Christian,  Molly's  father,  after  so  contrib- 
uting to  his  daughter's  needs,  had  wisely  put  what 
remained  of  his  fortune  into  an  annuity  that  sup- 
ported the  amiable  but  unpractical  gentleman 
until  his  death  two  years  before  our  story  opens. 
This  disposition  of  his  funds  had  been  indorsed 
by  Mr.  Christian's  family  and  friends  with  more 
satisfaction  because  of  his  previous  persistency 
of  faith  in  certain  silver  and  copper  mines  that 
had  given  him  every  facility  for  cultivating  the 
process  known  as  throwing  good  money  after 
bad. 

Although  Molly's  handsome  Terence  had  not, 
according  to  her  expectation  of  him,  quite  set 
the  world  of  his  craft  on  fire,  he  had  made  a 
respectable  livelihood ;  and  she  and  their  chil- 
dren adored  him  for  his  sweet,  cheery  temper 
and  easy-going  ways.  Late  in  her  life  he  had 
imported  to  live  with  them  a  lively  little  old  Irish 
mother — styled  by  the  juniors  "Granny" — who 
proved  to  be  just  the  dash  of  flavor  needful  to 
complete  their  family  salad.  Petulant,  affec- 
tionate, witty,  and  light-hearted,  Granny  had 
bravely  helped  her  daughter-in-law  to  bear  the 
increasing  burden  of  domestic  life  on  a  limited 
207 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

income  in  a  community  where  upon  working  peo- 
ple there  is  a  call  for  every  dollar  before  it  is 
well  in  hand. 

As  the  children  had  grown  up,  and  their  varied 
mental  gifts  cried  aloud  for  the  best  education  of 
the  times,  Molly  had,  indeed,  had  much  ado  to 
make  both  ends  meet.  Luckily  for  her,  the 
strain  of  keeping  up  appearances  was  not  among 
her  trials. 

When  the  Blairs  had  married,  possessing  be- 
tween them  means  enough  to  give  and  take  the 
hospitality  of  that  ^simpler  period,  they  were  a 
part  of  the  circle  that  in  those  days  codified  the 
social  laws  of  the  metropolis.  Mistress  Molly, 
a  whilom  belle  of  her  set,  did  not  lack  for  atten- 
tions, and  Terence  was  popular.  But  very  soon, 
it  became  apparent  to  the  young  couple  that  they 
were  straining  overmuch  to  keep  abreast  with 
people  who  affected  to  put  aside  the  hum-drum 
ways  of  their  Revolutionary,  or  Dutch,  or  Puri- 
tan ancestors;  that  the  growing  elaboration  of 
life  among  their  kind  must  drive  the  Blairs  either 
to  accept  without  returning,  or  not  to  accept  at 
all.  So  Molly  let  go  the  threads  of  gossamer 
that  bound  her  to  her  world,  and  little  by  little 
the  Blairs  had  drifted  into  insignificance.  To 
Terence,  with  his  insular  density  as  to  the  shades 
of  difference  in  American  society,  it  had  not 
208 


THE  STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

seemed  a  mighty  matter  to  give  up  Molly's 
friends;  but  she  was  a  woman,  and  at  first  it 
had  cost  her  a  few  natural  pangs.  Now  for 
nearly  twenty  years  she  and  Terence  had  lived 
their  own  life,  and  on  the  whole  had  done  very 
well  without  the  things  forsaken. 

How  was  it,  then,  that  to-night,  as  the  little 
house-mother  sat  at  her  homely  task,  her 
thoughts,  roving  over  the  field  of  her  interests, 
general  and  special,  had  settled  with  a  tinge  of 
wistfulness  upon  a  very  trivial  matter?  In  an 
evening  newspaper  she  had  chanced  to  read  the 
account  of  a  ball,  given  the  night  before  for 
the  young  daughter  of  one  of  her  friends  of  early 
years,  when  the  debutante  had  literally  walked 
upon  flowers. 

"Lilies  of  the  valley  strewing  the  floor  of  the 
alcove  where  Tilly  Beaumoris  stood  beside  her 
mother  to  receive!  And  for  my  girl,  to-night 
of  all  nights,  when  she  plays  her  violin  before 
Levitsky,  not  so  much  as  a  posy  to  wear  in  her 
best  frock!"  This  was  the  arrow  that  pierced 
Mrs.  Molly's  armor! 

Yes,  it  was  Kathleen,  bright,  radiant  Kath- 
leen— her  nineteen-year-old  daughter,  the  sun- 
shine and  perfume  of  their  home — who  had 
begun  to  disturb  the  long-standing  family  peace. 

What  Molly  had  cheerfully  accepted  for  her- 
209 


THE   STOLEN   STRADI VARIUS 

self,  she  now,  like  a  true  American  parent,  began 
to  think  might  be  bettered  for  Kathleen. 

An  hour  before,  she  had  seen  the  child — heaven 
in  her  face — set  forth  with  her  father  for  a 
musicale  in  the  studio  of  an  artist,  who  had 
promised  to  fetch  there  to  hear  her  play  the 
great  Herr  Levitsky  himself,  whose  verdict 
made  or  marred  an  aspirant  in  her  field.  And 
Molly  had  no  sort  of  doubt  as  to  Kathleen's 
rare  talent  for  the  violin. 

The  only  cloud  upon  Kathleen's  horizon  had 
been  that  mamma  must  stop  behind. 

Molly  had  pleaded — though  Kathleen  quite 
understood  it  to  be  a  pious  fiction — that  she 
really  could  not  make  the  effort  to  go  to  Crich- 
ton's  musicale;  that  she  was  better  off  at  home; 
that  she  would  certainly  be  nervous,  and  that 
Kathleen  would  see  it,  and  fail  to  play  as  well. 
Kathleen  knew — and  Molly  knew  she  knew — that 
the  frugal  little  lady's  only  remaining  evening 
gown  was  too  hopelessly  decrepit  to  make  another 
appearance  in  public  without  the  renovation 
requiring  time  and  outlay  just  then  impossible 
to  bestow  on  it.  As  for  its  alternate — the  old 
black  satin  surviving  the  days  of  a  fuller  purse — 
that  had  "suffered  a  sea  change"  into  modern 
conformity  with  gores,  and  gathers,  and  what 
not,  and  was  at  the  moment  rippling  sheenfully 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

from  Kathleen's  own  slender  waist,  the  bodice 
veiled  in  transparent  gauze  of  the  same  somber 
hue,  through  which  the  girl's  white  throat  and 
splendid  shoulders  gleamed  with  a  pearly  luster. 

What  Kathleen  had  done  to  bridge  over  the 
insincerity  of  her  mother's  excuses,  was  to  put 
her  strong,  round  arms  about  Molly's  neck  and 
half  blind  her  with  enthusiastic  kisses. 

Maurice,  coming  a  moment  later  into  the 
room — Molly's  oldest  son,  Maurice,  with  his 
six  foot  one  of  young  manhood  set  off  by  cheap 
broadcloth,  speckless  linen,  and  the  ruddy  hues 
of  health  and  modesty — had  repeated  Kathleen's 
onslaught;  and  lastly  Terence,  always  laggard, 
wearing  his  high  hat  of  ceremony,  and  strug- 
gling into  his  overcoat  as  he  hurried  in,  had 
kissed  her  good-by,  and  bade  her  be  of  good 
cheer,  since  their  girl  was  sure  to  do  them  credit. 

Ah,  well !  What  did  anything  matter  so  long 
as  she  had  these? 

No,  no,  she  did  not  envy  her  old  friend,  Lottie 
Earl,  now  the  important  Mrs.  Beaumoris  of  the 
society  newspapers,  or  covet  ever  so  little  that 
lady's  grand  establishments  in  town  and  coun- 
try, her  yacht,  her  travels,  and  her  vogue.  It 
had  been  only  a  silly  passing  fancy  of  Molly's 
about  the  waste  of  all  those  lilies,  because  Kath- 
leen had  asked  for  a  few  to  brighten  her  gala 


toilet,  and  could  not  be  gratified  in  view  of  the 
winter  woolens  needed  for  poor,  dear  Jock — who 
was  serenely  wearing  his  last  year's  rags  in  a 
snow-drift  up  at  college! 

Then  merry  Jock  passed  in  review  in  his 
mother's  anxious  thoughts — Jock,  whom  the 
family  were  putting  through  the  university  by 
dint  of  constant  self-denial  and  petty  economy. 
And  then,  Maurice,  whose  clever  drawings  were 
beginning  to  be  sought  for  by  the  editors;  his 
hopes  and  ambitions,  his  loving  confidence  in 
her,  flooded  her  heart  with  tender  meditation. 
Next,  Terence  had  his  turn,  and  there  was  a 
space  for  Granny.  And  before  all  of  these 
images  of  her  worship,  Molly  poured  a  libation  of 
love  that  made  her  as  happy  as  a  queen.  Gone 
now  were  the  barbed  thoughts  of  a  little  while 
before.  How  "they"  would  laugh  at  her  next 
day,  when  she  confessed  her  feelings  as  to  Mrs. 
Beaumoris,  for  to  the  Blairs  most  sentiments 
were  common  property.  Terence,  his  eyes  full 
of  quizzical  enjoyment,  would  call  her  a  little 
socialist.  Maurice,  throwing  back  his  head  in 
a  jolly  laugh,  would  declare,  provided  the  Blanks 
gave  him  Horner's  new  novel  to  illustrate,  Mrs. 
Beaumoris  was  welcome  to  strew  forty  thousand 
lilies  upon  her  daughter's  pathway.  Granny 
would  let  fly  some  cheerful  satire,  and  Kath- 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

leen — well,  if  to-night  Levitsky  approved  of 
Kathleen's  playing,  after  this  the  girl  would  be 
too  well  satisfied  with  her  lot  in  life  to  bestow 
even  a  transient  sigh  upon  anything  lacking! 

As  the  clock  on  the  mantelshelf  chimed  eleven 
Mrs.  Blair  started  in  surprise.  Her  stockings 
were  all  done,  and  piled  beside  her  in  neat  rolls; 
and  still  there  was  time  to  run  over  those  last 
proofs  of  Terence's,  so  that  he,  poor  dear,  might 
get  to  bed  for  once  in  decent  time. 

It  was  not  for  the  intellectual  treat  that  Molly 
Blair,  her  rather  overtasked  hazel  eyes  radiating 
contentment,  next  set  herself,  with  the  careful 
facility  of  one  trained  to  the  work,  to  read  over 
the  pile  of  galley  slips  representing  part  of  her 
husband's  new  book  on  the  Romance  Languages, 
then  running  through  the  press.  Truth  to  tell, 
in  her  zeal  of  sympathy  she  almost  knew  the 
paragraphs  by  heart. 

So  deeply  immersed  in  her  occupation  was  Mr. 
Blair's  proofreader,  however,  that  by  and  by, 
although  Molly  had  meant  to  listen  for  the  wel- 
come sound,  a  latch-key  was  turned  in  the  hall 
lock  below,  and  she  did  not  hear  it.  A  mo- 
ment later,  a  whirlwind,  apparently,  bore  into 
her  presence  a  young  creature  with  the  brightest 
eyes  and  ripest  lips  in  the  world. 

"Oh!  little  mother,  darling!"  cried  Kathleen, 
413 


THE   STOLEN  STRADIVARIUS 

breathlessly,  "how  shall  I  tell  you  my  good  news? 
It  was  like  a  fairy  tale ;  and  Maurice  thinks  so, 
too.  He's  just  as  glad  as  I  am,  I  can  see;  only 
we've  not  had  time  to  talk  it  over.  Well — to 
begin  with — he  was  there — " 

"Who,  Maurice?"  asked  Molly,  happily. 

"No,  you  teasing  mother — Levitsky — and 
when  Mr.  Crichton  took  me  up  to  introduce  me, 
the  hero  just  glanced  me  over  with  his  cold  blue 
eyes,  and  looked  about  as  much  pleased  with  new 
company  as  the  real  lion  does  at  the  menagerie. 
Then,  I  began  to  play.  And  what  followed  I 
don't  know — except  that  the  people  were  as  still 
as  mice,  and  that  I  forgot  even  Levitsky  stand- 
ing there,  so  tall  and  weary,  between  the  fold- 
ing doors.  And  then — and  then — everybody 
clapped,  and  I  played  again;  and,  when  I  had 
finished,  papa,  who  was  close  behind  me,  took 
my  violin  away.  Next  Levitsky  came  straight 
through  the  crowd,  and  took  me  by  the  hand, 
and  said — oh!  what  do  you  suppose  he  said  to 
your  good-for-nothing  child?  'Mademoiselle, 
you  have  all  the  rest,  if  only  you  persevere  till 
you  master  the  technique. '  His  eyes  were  no 
longer  like  steel;  they  shone  on  me  with  the 
softest,  friendliest  gleam.  That  terrible  golden 
mane  of  his  could  never  frighten  me  again,  I 
think.  He  was  as  gentle  as  you  are,  mother  dear; 
214 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

and  there  we  stood  talking  till  he  left,  and  papa 
said  I  must  come  away,  too." 

"You  will  say  I  was,  for  once,  fit  to  take  care 
of  your  treasure,  won't  you,  Molly?"  supple- 
mented Terence,  who  had  followed  the  family 
swan  upstairs.  "When  you  see  the  state  of 
excitement  she  is  in,  you  will  agree  that  if  that 
little  head  isn't  turned  to-night  she'll  indeed  be 
a  lucky  girl.  Levitsky  showed  pretty  plainly 
that  it  wasn't  by  any  means  a  thing  of  every  day 
for  him  to  meet  with  the  likes  of  her;  and  when 
he  roared,  of  course  all  the  little  animals  chimed 
in.  I  suppose,  there'll  be  no  living  in  the  house 
with  Kathleen  after  this." 

"Oh,  yes!  I  shall  be  so  good,  so  amiable, 
everybody  can  live  at  peace  with  me,"  cried 
Kathleen,  throwing  off  her  fur-trimmed  wrap  and 
revealing  her  beauty  to  the  eyes  that  never  tired 
of  it.  "But  here  we  are,  mother,  neglecting  a 
most  important  duty.  In  the  fullness  of  his 
pride,  this  heedless  daddy  of  mine  has  gone  and 
invited  two  or  three  men  to  come  in  here  pres- 
ently for  supper." 

"Terence!"  said  Mrs.  Blair,  reproachfully. 

"It's  only  Malvolio,  Molly  dear,  and  little 
Catullus  Clarke—" 

"Such  a  beautiful  new  poet,  Mr.  Clarke  is, 
mother,  with  night-black,  silky  hair  and  chiseled 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

features — don't  you  remember  papa's  review  of 
his  book  Sunday  before  last — here  it  is,  this 
dark-green  duck  of  a  booklet,  with  every  modern 
idea  in  the  make-up — " 

"But  my  dears,  however  will  Mr.  Catullus 
Clarke  bring  himself  to  consort  with  a  Welsh 
rarebit?"  interrupted  the  housekeeper,  with  some 
severity.  "And  to  save  my  life,  that  is  all  I  can 
think  of  to  offer  him." 

"He'll  tackle  it  fast  enough,"  said  Terence, 
comfortably.  "But  don't  fash  yourself,  Molly; 
there'll  be  oysters  to  stew  in  the  big  chafing- 
dish.  Maurice  stopped  behind  us  to  fetch  them 
from  our  old  friend  Felsenberg's,  whose  place 
was  open  and  in  full  blast  as  we  passed.  Come 
downstairs  now,  and  get  things  ready  in  the  din- 
ing-room, for  it  isn't  every  day  we  celebrate  our 
daughter's  first  step  in  the  temple  of  Fame,  I'd 
have  you  remember,  ma'am." 

"And,  mother,"  put  in  Kathleen,  as  they 
adjourned  below  for  action,  "you  will  never 
guess  whom  I  met  at  Crichton's!  Mrs.  Beau- 
moris  and  her  older  daughter,  who  is  a  fanatic 
for  music." 

"Lottie  Beaumoris?"  said  Molly,  remembering 
with  a  blush  her  envious  soliloquy  of  a  little 
while  ago. 

"Yes,  you  know  she  is  by  way  of  being  a  pa- 
216 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

troness  of  talent,  and  the  daughter  is  one  of  the 
little  fishes  that  swim  after  Levitsky.  They 
were  amazingly  condescending  to  me,  not  in 
the  least  identifying  your  child.  Here  comes  the 
wonderful  part,  mother.  Mrs.  Beaumoris  has 
engaged  me  to  play  at  an  afternoon  party  on  the 
25th,  when  Levitsky 's  to  be  the  star!  I  saw 
in  a  minute  that  the  master  had  suggested  me, 
and  felt  perfectly  overwhelmed  with  thankfulness. 
And  the  price,  mamma — the  price  I  am  to  be 
paid  is  stunning.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Beaumoris  may 
not  think  so,  for  I  noticed  she  hesitated  when 
she  offered  it — but  she  little  knew  how  my  spirit 
bounded  at  the  offer.  Let  me  whisper,  dear;  I 
don't  mean  that  any  one  else  shall  hear." 

And  bending  her  stately  head  to  the  level  of 
Molly's  little  pink  ear,  she  breathed  into  it  a 
sum  which,  to  the  simple  notions  of  the  mother, 
seemed  more  than  generous,  although,  as  Mrs. 
Beaumoris  afterward  boasted,  she  was  "getting 
this  new  girl  for  half  price." 

"Is  Kathleen  telling  of  her  latest  captive?" 
said  Maurice,  arriving  with  his  can  of  oysters, 
to  find  their  little  dining-room  aglow  with  warmth 
and  comfort. 

"Nonsense,  Morry, "  said  his  sister. 

"Yes,  but  it's  true,  she  has  got  her  net  over 
not  only  the  great  Levitsky,  but  a  man  who  can 
217 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

help  her  on  tremendously,  if  he  chooses  to. 
And  he  does  choose  apparently,  since  he  asked 
me  when  he  might  call  here — and  by  the  same 
token,  I  told  him  we'd  be  having  a  bit  of  supper 
later  on,  and  would  be  glad  to  have  him  drop  in. " 

"Morry!"  said  both  women,  in  a  breath. 

"Well,  now,  mother,  isn't  it  my  business  to 
look  after  Kathleen's  musical  interests?  And 
didn't  Crichton  tell  me  this  fellow  was  no  end  of 
a  swell  in  musical  high  society?  The  first  time 
I  noticed  him  was  in  the  train  of  those  Beau- 
moris  females,  who  appealed  to  him  for  every- 
thing. But  he  couldn't  take  his  eyes  off  my  little 
sister  after  she  began  to  play." 

"I  never  even  saw  him,"  exclaimed  Kathleen. 
"Or,  stop!  could  that  have  been  the  beautiful 
Raphael-faced  creature  who  was  standing  be- 
tween the  doors  during  my  first  piece?" 

"I  suppose  you  might  call  him  Raphael-faced," 
said  Maurice,  with  a  brother's  fine  scorn  of  his 
sister's  'enthusiasm  for  any  man.  "But  / 
looked  at  him  purely  in  a  business  light,  as  an 
impresario  of  young  genius.  He  talked  to  me 
some  time,  and  accepted  my  invitation  to  drop 
in.  I  don't  know,  now  that  I  come  to  think  of 
it,  what  there  is  about  Thorndyke,  but  it's  some- 
thing not  quite — well,  I  give  it  up.  Judge  for 
yourselves  when  he  arrives." 
218 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

And  now,  all  was  in  readiness  for  the  im- 
promptu feast.  On  the  hob  of  the  grate  fire,  a 
kettle,  indispensable  to  the  impending  brew  of 
Terence's  famous  punch,  simmered  assurance 
of  speedy  boiling.  Terence — trusting  to  no  one 
the  concoction  of  a  Welsh  rarebit,  for  which  he 
had  won  renown  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  now 
years  too  many  ago  to  be  mentioned  —  was 
already  at  work  over  a  chafing-dish.  Kathleen, 
her  cheeks  crimson,  her  lips  of  the  true  pome- 
granate tint  parted  with  delight — a  large  damask 
napkin  pinned  over  the  front  of  her  made-over 
black  satin — was  peeling  a  lemon  for  the  punch. 
In  this  branch  of  culinary  service  she  was 
admitted  to  be  an  adept — so  thin,  so  even,  so 
unbroken  the  golden  spirals  she  produced ! 

Maurice,  perched  on  the  arm  of  his  sister's 
chair,  fell  into  lively  whispering — for,  to  Kath- 
leen, almost  before  his  mother,  the  boy  was 
accustomed  to  carry  his  hopes  and  fears.  To 
him  also  that  evening  had  fallen  a  stroke  of 
good  fortune.  Had  not  he  heard  from  Mr. 
Malvolio,  the  art-critic  of  the  Regulator,  that 
had  spoken  to  him  of  putting  the  illustra- 
tions of  Homer's  book  into  the  hands  of  "that 

young  Blair?"     And  was  not the  member  of 

the  great  publishing  firm  most  to  be  relied  upon 
for  the  distribution  of  covetable  plums? 
219 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

Mrs.  Blair,  glancing  back  as  she  went  into  the 
pantry  to  prepare  for  her  oyster  stew,  thought 
the  old  clock  under  which  her  children  sat — 
whose  broad  face  had  looked  down  for  so  many 
years  on  the  councils  of  her  family — had  never 
seen  a  fresher,  a  more  winsome  pair,  eager  to 
confront  the  great  world  on  their  own  account. 

The  father,  affecting  not  to  be  conscious  of 
Morry's  confidence  to  Kathleen,  recalled  the 
days  when  he  had  peeped  in  on  them  at  early 
morning  in  their  nursery,  to  find  both  youngsters 
sitting  in  the  same  crib,  with  heads  together 
and  tongues  wagging  industriously  over  their 
forecasts  for  a  day,  then  as  wide  and  broad  to 
them  as  was  the  future  now.  Neither  of  his 
children,  Terence  decided  with  satisfaction,  had 
parted  with  the  simple  straightforwardness  of 
that  primal  period. 

Mr.  Malvolio,  whose  ring  startled  Maurice  from 
his  perch,  and  sent  him  to  open  the  front  door, 
considered  himself  well  favored  in  being  ad- 
mitted to  one  of  Blair's  little  off-hand  suppers. 
As  the  famous  critic  and  dictator  upon  matters 
of  pictorial  art  came  into  the  room,  his  pallid, 
mask-like  face,  and  snaky,  black  locks  dishev- 
eled over  a  high  forehead,  suggested  rather  a 
ghost  at  the  feast  than  a  would-be  reveler. 

After    him    presently   arrived    Mr.     Catullus 

220 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

Clarke,  whose  overcoat  and  galoches  had  but 
just  been  deposited  in  the  little  hall,  when  a 
third  ring  made  itself  audible. 

"That's  Thorndyke,  probably,"  said  Maurice, 
hastening  away — the  maid  servants  of  the  Blair 
household  having  been  long  abed  and  slumber- 
ing. 

"Maurice  has  asked  an  important  stranger  to 
join  us,"  said  Mrs.  Blair,  with  a  little  air  of 
apology  to  Malvolio. 

"Thorndyke — I  should  think  so,"  said  Mal- 
volio, but  interrupted  himself  upon  the  entrance 
of  Kathleen's  "Raphael-faced"  young  man. 

He  had  been  going  to  say  that  Thorndyke  was 
much  oftener  visible  in  houses  of  the  Beaumoris 
variety  than  in  the  haunts  of  upper  Bohemia,  but 
this  struck  him  as  hardly  a  gracious  observation, 
even  among  the  easy-going  Blairs. 

The  first  appearance  of  the  musical  virtuoso 
confirmed,  in  her  mother's  eyes,  Kathleen's 
description  of  him.  There  was  an  expression 
singularly  unworldly  and  winning  about  his  fair, 
handsome  face.  In  his  hand  he  bore  a  cluster 
of  rare  white  orchids,  fringed  with  maiden  hair 
fern — "a  real  Beaumoris  bouquet,"  said  proud 
Molly  to  herself — which,  with  an  almost  rever- 
ential air,  upon  being  presented  to  that  young 
lady  by  her  brother,  he  offered  to  Kathleen. 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

This  act  of  public  tribute  from  an  oracle  of 
such  repute  in  the  world  where  she  aspired  to 
shine  filled  the  girl  with  tremulous  delight.  It 
also  disposed  her  to  think  more  than  kindly  of 
the  giver.  But  Thorndyke  did  not  follow  up  his 
advantage  by  pressing  himself  upon  her  further 
notice.  He  talked  in  turn  with  Terence  Blair, 
Mrs.  Blair,  and  Malvolio;  tasted  and  praised 
Molly's  oysters,  declined  Terence's  punch,  and 
settled  down  in  a  corner  to  await  further  devel- 
opments. 

At  this  point  of  the  proceedings  still  another 
ring  was  heard — brisk,  fearless,  insistent,  the 
sort  of  ring  Jack  might  have  caused  to  resound 
through  the  Giant's  castle. 

"Who  can  that  be?"  asked  Mrs.  Blair.  Ter- 
ence, to  whom  she  addressed  herself,  did  not 
reply  in  words,  but,  with  a  sly  smile  twinkling 
about  his  eyes  and  lips,  referred  her  to  Kath- 
leen. 

Kathleen,  engaged  in  conversation  with  Mr. 
Malvolio,  whose  quaint  drolleries  of  speech  gave 
her  continual  pleasure,  turned  around  with  a 
movement  half  impatient,  half  resigned. 

"Ask  Morry,"  she  said.  But  Maurice,  quite 
under  the  spell  of  Mr.  Thorndyke,  was  listening 
with  delight  to  that  gentleman's  discourse  upon 


322 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

some  theme  evidently  kindling  to  the  imagina- 
tion. 

"Morry  would  invite  him,  mother,"  the  girl 
went  on,  with  a  trifle  of  petulance  in  her  voice. 
"It  is  only  just  Colin." 


223 


II 

"Only  just  Colin!"  Behold  a  youth,  tall, 
heavily  built,  powerful,  his  head  leaning  a  little 
forward  from  the  shoulders,  his  brown,  healthy 
face  adorned  with  the  expression  of  good  will 
toward  mankind  that,  after  all,  is  the  one  unfad- 
ing charm  of  the  human  countenance.  It  was 
because  of  his  trust  in  ^things  that  Colin  never 
felt  abashed,  greeting  the  great  and  the  lowly 
alike  with  honest  good-fellowship.  Although  in 
the  eyes  of  a  critical  woman  of  the  world  his 
person  might  have  been  found  lacking  in  certain 
exterior  signs  deemed  by  her  class  indispensable, 
his  looks  and  manner  when  he  came  into  a  room 
carried  with  them  irresistible  attraction.  An 
ex-hero  of  the  university,  where  Maurice  had 
been  his  devoted  chum  and  follower,  the  echo  of 
Colin's  achievements  in  athletics  had  not  yet  died 
out  in  the  two  years  since  he  had  graduated. 
Take  Jock  Blair,  for  example,  at  present  a  junior 
under  the  wing  of  the  same  alma  mater,  and  seat 
him  at  table  in  Colin's  company;  a  babbling  and 
confident  young  fellow  enough  in  ordinary  so- 
ciety, Jock  would  be  stricken  dumb  and  reverent 
224 


THE    STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

in  the  presence  of  this  composite  Napoleon  and 
Wellington. 

Now  a  hard  worker  in  his  first  year  at  the  law, 
not  even  those  outsiders,  chill  of  blood,  who 
affect  to  contemn  the  practice  of  manly  sports 
among  healthy  young  collegians,  could  have 
found  ground  for  a  charge  against  Colin  that  he 
was  subordinating  brain  to  muscle.  Under  his 
new  teaching,  he  had  done  more  than  well.  To 
the  physical  animation  acquired  in  college  he 
had  many  times  given  thanks  for  helping  him  to 
endure  this  later  life,  in  which  a  walk  uptown 
after  working  hours  was  the  chief  outlet  for  his 
tremendous  energy  of  body. 

When  we  have  said  additionally  that  Colin 
was  of  a  very  short  purse,  and  had  no  backing 
of  family  in  New  York — seeing  that  his  relatives 
were  unimportant  residents  of  a  small  Western 
town — that  he  was  hopelessly  in  love  with  Kath- 
leen Blair,  and  that  at  college  he  had  been  dubbed 
Colin  chiefly  because  his  real  name  was  John 
Walter  Mackintosh,  the  tale  is  told. 

Knowing  that  his  charmer  was  that  night  to 
undergo  the  ordeal  of  proving  her  quality  as  a 
violinist  before  the  supreme  Herr  Levitsky,  our 
young  man  had  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  get 
an  invitation  to  Crichton's  musicale;  having 
succeeded  in  which,  he  had  passed  through  a 
225 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

tumult  of  emotions  regarding  a  proper  appear- 
ance for  the  occasion. 

Maurice,  sharing  his  confidence,  had  lent  sage 
advice.  Colin,  who  perhaps  for  no  other  reason 
would  have  taken  on  himself  a  debt,  had  secured 
upon  the  installment  plan  of  payment  a  new  suit 
of  evening  clothes,  the  genial  sartor  who  pro- 
vided them  supplying,  out  of  the  fullness  of  his 
sympathy,  facings  for  the  coat  of  a  better  quality 
of  silk  than  was  nominated  in  the  bond.  At  the 
instigation  also  of  the  more  knowing  Maurice, 
the  aspirant  had  next  repaired  to  a  much  adver- 
tised "Fire  Sale"  of  "Gents'  Furnishings," 
where  he  had  laid  in  a  dozen  white  linen  ties, 
"imperceptibly  damaged,"  and  six  hemstitched 
pocket  handkerchiefs.  This  done,  there  was 
yet  a  mighty  obstacle  to  overcome.  For  two  in- 
terminable days  Colin  had  not  seen  his  way  clear 
to  the  possession  of  a  pair  of  patent  leather  shoes. 
Over  and  again  he  had  surveyed  wistfully  his 
rough  ordinary  footwear,  and  reluctantly  decided 
that  it  would  not  do.  The  jest  of  the  bootmaker 
to  whom  he  had  ventured  a  remonstrance  as  to 
the  high  price  of  his  wares,  that  it  "took  extra 
leather  to  cover  some  men's  feet,"  was  iron  en- 
tering Colin's  soul. 

At  this  critical  juncture,  somebody  had  been 
called  in  haste  from  the  law  office  claiming  the 
226 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

services  of  Mr.  Mackintosh,  to  draw  up  an  old 
woman's  death-bed  will.  To  Colin  had  been  as- 
signed the  task,  and  also,  to  his  eternal  grati- 
tude, the  small  fee  resulting.  The  speed  made 
by  him  uptown  that  day  after  office  hours,  to 
reach  the  bootmaker  before  his  shop  should  be 
closed,  recalled  to  our  hero  some  of  his  efforts 
at  sprinting  between  hoarsely  cheering  crowds 
of  college  sympathizers. 

Two  minutes  after  he  was  invested  in  all  his 
hardly-won  integuments,  Colin  had  forgotten 
them.  He  had  long  been  planning  how  to  pres- 
ent Kathleen  with  some  flowers  to  wear  at  the 
musicale.  Knowing  her  favorites,  he  had  pur- 
chased a  sheaf  of  those  "naiad-like  lilies  of  the 
vale,  whom  youth  makes  so  fair,  and  passion  so 
pale,"  at  a  cost  that  would  deprive  him  of  lun- 
cheon money  for  some  days;  then,  with  a  strong 
desire  to  see  her  pleasure  in  them,  had  walked 
around  to  the  Blair's  house  carrying  the  gift  in 
person. 

On  the  doorstep  his  courage  had  failed.  Kath- 
leen, sternly  intent  on  checking  his  too  rapid  ad- 
vance, might,  and  no  doubt  would,  decline  his 
offering.  So  rather  miserably,  the  big  young 
man  had  turned  around  again  and  marched  away 
with  his  pasteboard  box.  At  the  corner,  he  be- 
thought him  of  a  recent  speech  of  hers — that 
227 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

"better  than  anything  but  music,"  she  loved 
flowers.  This  renewed  his  prowess.  Again  he 
stormed  the  lady's  portal,  and  again  fell  away, 
discouraged,  in  apprehension  of  her  frown.  The 
scrutiny  of  a  passing  policeman  served  to  weaken 
his  last  remnant  of  resolution. 

The  lilies,  returning  with  him  to  his  lodging, 
were,  with  continuing  uncertainty,  carried  on  to 
Crichton's  studio.  There  Mr.  Mackintosh, 
proving  to  be  the  first  arrival,  had  judged  it  best 
to  remain  secluded  in  the  cloak-room,  until  a 
number  of  men,  passing  in,  gave  him  countenance 
to  enter  the  scene  of  entertainment.  His  vague 
plan  of  contriving  to  intercept  Kathleen  on  her 
arrival,  and  putting  the  flowers  in  Morry's  hands, 
with  the  request  that  she  should  wear  them,  had 
now  vanished  into  thin  air.  He  wished  at  last 
he  had  never  burdened  himself  with  the  con- 
founded things. 

What  Colin  felt  while  Kathleen  had  witched 
her  audience  with  youth  and  loveliness  and  tal- 
ent may  be  divined  by  the  reader.  Perhaps  by 
ruffling  the  leaves  of  the  book  of  Memory,  some 
chronicle  may  still  be  found  there,  uneffaced,  to 
suggest  the  proud  tingling  in  the  young  man's 
veins!  The  little  lock  of  darkest  hair,  that  while 
she  wielded  the  bow  had  the  habit  of  breaking 
cover  and  falling  down  upon  a  fine  jetty  eye- 
228 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

brow,  the  rich  flush  in  her  cheek  swept  by  the 
lashes  of  down-dropping  eyes,  the  noble  uncon- 
sciousness of  her  face  and  figure,  thrilled  him 
with  a  more  passionate  resolve  than  ever  to  win 
her  for  his  own. 

When  she  had  finished  playing,  and  the  crowd 
thronged  about  her  to  indorse  the  master's  ver- 
dict, Colin  had  kept  aloof.  He  did  not  want  to 
spoil  the  hour  by  commonplace;  and  indeed  his 
heart  was  too  full  for  utterance.  Maurice,  just 
then  running  upon  him  in  the  throng,  had  bidden 
his  friend  to  supper.  Colin,  fed  with  new  hope, 
had  returned  again  to  the  dressing-room,  intend- 
ing to  take  a  walk  until  it  should  be  time  to  pre- 
sent himself  at  the  Blairs'.  Between  two  men 
talking  over  the  performance  of  the  evening  as 
they  lighted  their  cigars,  he  heard  Kathleen  dis- 
cussed in  terms  that  he  considered  daringly 
impertinent.  Although  the  phrases  used  were 
chiefly  those  of  custom  upon  the  appearance  of  a 
new  performer  in  her  field,  one  of  the  men  lent 
to  them  an  emphasis  so  offensive  that  Colin  had 
much  ado  to  restrain  himself  from  flying  at  the 
offender  and  choking  him  backward  into  a  pile 
of  hats. 

Tempted  to  leave  his  now  oppressive  offering 
for  beauty's  shrine  in  Crichton's  fireplace,  he 
took  up  again  his  box  of  flowers  and  went  out 
229 


THE   STOLEN  STRADIVARIUS 

into  the  night.  How  far  he  wandered  through 
the  chill,  deserted  streets  in  the  effort  to  make 
time  pass  ere  he  thought  it  proper  to  appear 
before  his  goddess,  Colin  did  not  realize.  When 
he  could  bear  no  longer  not  seeing  her,  he  had 
rung  Mr.  Blair's  door-bell;  but  when  he  was 
asked  into  the  supper  room,  where  they  were  all 
assembled,  the  spurned  and  imprisoned  lilies 
were  tucked  away  on  the  lower  shelf  of  the 
hat-rack,  behind  the  galoches  of  Mr.  Catullus 
Clarke. 

"And  where  will  you  sit,  Mr.  Mackintosh?" 
asked  Mrs.  Blair,  holding  out  a  kind  hand  of 
welcome  to.  her  new  guest,  who  accordingly 
dropped  into  the  chair  nearest  her  own. 

Colin  could  hardly  speak.  In  the  stranger 
guest,  ensconced  in  intimate  conversation  with 
Maurice,  he  recognized  one  of  the  men  he  had 
desired  to  knock  down  in  the  dressing-room  at 
Crichton's! 

"Now,  we  may  notice  in  Clarke's  poems, "  Mr. 
Malvolio  was  saying  with  wicked  relish,  "what 
Emerson  once  remarked  about  Oxford.  'Noth- 
ing new  or  true,  and  no  matter.'  ' 

"I  do  not  pretend  to  solve  my  own  problems, 
my  dear  fellow,"  returned  the  poet,  languidly, 
as  he  lay  back  at  ease  in  a  large  arm-chair,  sur- 
veying his  patent-leather  toes;  "I  only  state 
230 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

them  to  average  intelligence,  and  then  pray  for 
the  interposition  of  the  Power  that  brought 
speech  out  of  Balaam's  ass  to  give  understanding 
to  some  of  my  readers." 

"Indeed,  yours  is  the  dearest  little  book  we 
have  had  this  month,  Mr.  Clarke,"  exclaimed 
Kathleen;  "and  your  poster  is  the  wildest  and 
weirdest  in  my  collection." 

"Then  I  have  not  printed  in  vain,  Miss  Blair," 
answered  the  bardling,  looking  at  her  with 
admiring  eyes.  In  reality  he  was  entirely  happy. 

It  was  only  being  overlooked  that  ever  caused 
Catullus  pain. 

"Gather  your  roses,  while  you  may,  Clarke," 
resumed  Malvolio,  cheerfully.  "Presently  the 
twentieth  century  will  throw  upon  you  mysteri- 
ous folk  a  searchlight  in  which  even  you  will 
stand  revealed,  and  then  your  occupation  will  be 
gone.  You  owe  Blair  a  debt  of  gratitude,  by 
the  way,  for  slating  you  so  discreetly  a  couple  of 
weeks  ago.  It's  immensely  clever  how  he  man- 
ages to  let  his  authors  think  the  failure  to  appre- 
ciate lies  in  him  only,  and  that  the  world  at  large 
is  ablaze  over  their  productions.  Now,  in  that 
thing  about  you,  for  instance,  the  readers  of  book 
reviews — I  wonder  who  they  are? — must  have 
thought  Blair  a  schoolboy  who  had  accidentally 
tangled  an  Olympic  deity  in  the  tail  of  his  kite. 
231 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

It  was  only  after  they  had  paid  one  fifty  for 
the  volume,  I  dare  say,  that  they  found  out  the 
truth." 

"Don't  spoil  my  wife's  supper  by  talking  shop 
over  it,"  said  Terence  reprovingly.  "To  come 
here  for  the  purpose  of  discussing  modern  litera- 
ture—" 

"You  flatter  Clarke,"  interrupted  Malvolio. 

"Is  hardly  my  idea  of  entertainment.  You 
might  as  well  invite  a  letter-carrier  to  take  a 
walk  for  pleasure." 

"Or  ask  Malvolio  to  talk  about  Monet — "  said 
Clarke. 

"Who  has  seen  'Heart  of  Topaz'?"  asked  Ter- 
ence .of  his  guests. 

"I,  says  the  fly,  with  my  little  eye,"  answered 
Malvolio.  "It  is  a  pretty  peep-show;  but  she 
is  only  Mrs.  Tanqueray  done  into  Japanese.  If 
we  are  to  have  that  lady  at  all  on  our  stage,  let 
her  come  in  the  strong,  original  guise  of  Pinero's 
heroine.  Although  you,  my  dear  Miss  Blair, 
must  stay  away  when  she  appears — " 

' '  Now  /  protest, ' '  said  Mrs.  Blair.  "  But  at  this 
rate,  we  shall  never  find  a  subject  of  conversa- 
tion upon  which  we  agree." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  exclaimed  Malvolio, 
whose  glass  Terence  had  just  filled  with  a  steam- 
ing golden  mixture  of  innocent  appearance. 
232 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

"There  is  one,  and  that  one  uppermost  in  all 
our  minds,  yet  deepest  in  our  hearts — " 

"Hear,  hear!"  murmured  Mr.  Clarke. 

"I  need  not,"  went  on  the  speaker,  arising 
and  holding  his  glass  in  his  right  hand,  while 
upon  his  saturnine  countenance  gleamed  an 
attempt  at  angelic  amiability,  "say  many  words 
to  emphasize  the  pleasure  Miss  Blair's  triumph 
has  given  to-night  to  her  hearers.  Up  to  the 
present  time,  I  must  confess,  I  have  known 
the  young  lady  chiefly  in  her  capacity  of  sub-critic 
to  her  father.  On  various  occasions  like  the 
present,  I  have  profited  by  her  opinions  upon 
the  topics  of  the  hour;  and  I  can  truly  say: 
'Now,  by  the  salt  wave  of  the  Mediterranean,  a 
sweet  touch,  a  quick  venue  of  wit;  snip,  snap, 
quick,  and  home;  it  rejoiceth  my  intellect:  true 
wit. '  But  to-night  she  has  soared  into  a  region 
whither  I  may  not  follow  her,  save  with  the  rever- 
ential eyes  of  an  earth-bound  loiterer;  she  has 
been  accepted  among  the  musical  elect,  and 
henceforward  I  can  only  offer  my  homage  from 
below.  Tho'  such  as  it  is — the  tribute  of  en- 
chanted ignorance — it  is  hers  most  heartily;  and 
I  ask  you  all  to  join  with  me  in  drinking  the 
health  of  the  'Woman  who  has  won!' ' 

"The  woman  who  has  won!"  repeated  Thorn- 
dyke,  significantly,  in  Kathleen's  ear.  He  had 
233 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

crossed  over  for  the  first  time  to  be  near  her, 
and  his  gaze  was  radiant. 

"Now,  why  couldn't  I  say  some  of  those  fine- 
sounding  things?"  poor  Colin  was  grumbling 
inwardly,  as  he  saw  Kathleeen  break  into  well- 
pleased  smiles  and  bend  blushing  in  the  direction 
of  her  extoller.  "Old  Malvolio  has  no  business 
to  take  this  on  himself,  considering  he's  no  more 
musical  sense  than  a  turnip.  That's  my  trouble, 
after  all.  I  can't  keep  up  with  the  phrase-mak- 
ers in  their  eternal  patter.  And  that  man  she 
is  talking  to  her  now!  How  am  I  to  tell  Morry 
or  her  father  the  way  I  heard  him  speak  of  her 
a  while  ago?  How  did  he  get  here,  anyway? 
Anybody  can  get  in  with  Kathleen  better  than  I, 
it  seems.  If  she'd  give  me  only  one  of  the 
sweet  looks  she  wastes  upon  all  these  literary 
freaks" — such,  we  grieve  to  say,  was  the  classifi- 
cation made  by  Mr.  Mackintosh  of  the  rank  and 
file  of  the  Blairs'  associates — "I'd — " 

His  meditations  were  cut  short  by  Kathleen 
herself,  who,  supple  as  a  snake,  had  glided 
unnoticed  to  his  elbow. 

"You  are  the  only  one  among  us  who  has  a 
long  face,"  she  said  to  him,  softly,  while  across 
and  around  the  table  now  resounded  a  fusillade 
of  merry  sayings  and  laughter.  "Is  it  because 
you  disapprove  of  my  playing  in  public?" 
234 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

"Disapprove  of  you?  Oh!  good  gracious, 
no!"  he  answered,  incoherently.  "I  am  proud 
to  the  core  of  my  heart.  But  that  doesn't  mean 
I  like  to  think  of  you  on  a  platform.  It  makes 
me  wretched,  and  that's  the  honest  truth.  You 
ought  to  be  shut  in  from  vulgar  gazers  in  a  little 
world  of  your  own;  and  the  question  of  dirty 
money  oughtn't  to  enter  into  your  art." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  the  more  practical  Kath- 
leen; "but,  after  all,  'dirty  money'  puts  the  hall- 
mark upon  accomplishment.  And  as  to  the 
vulgar  gazers  and  hearers,  they  light  the  torch 
of  genius.  When  I  was  last  at  the  opera,  in 
those  good  seats  in  the  parquet  Mr.  Toner 
sent  papa,  I  watched  the  artists  closely,  and  saw 
that  every  one  of  them  was  working  with  all  his 
or  her  might  to  do  the  best  possible;  and  when- 
ever there  came  a  burst  of  real  applause — not 
that  little  rainfall  of  claps  one  hears  from  the 
gallery  alone,  but  the  kind  that  comes,  quick  as 
near-by  thunder  after  lightning,  from  the  body 
of  the  house — the  ease  and  spontaneity  of  the 
performance  was  increased.  The  very  muscles 
of  their  bodies  seem  to  feel  the  tension,  and  their 
faces  to  grow  more  luminous." 

"That  may  be  true,"  said  poor  Colin,  who 
was  again  out  of  his  depth;  "but  somehow,  I 
don't  fancy  you  among  them.  I  had  rather  see 
235 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

you  in  the  boxes  with  those  nice  girls  who  sit  up 
by  their  mammas,  and  have  fellows  dropping  in 
to  call  on  them." 

"Please  don't!"  cried  she,  with  unaffected 
earnestness.  "I  can't  imagine  any  life  that  would 
suit  me  less  than  theirs.  Sometimes,  on  a  win- 
ter's night  when  'daddy  and  I  hurry  by  them  in 
the  lobby,  on  our  way  to  catch  a  cable  car  to 
get  home  in,  I  think  maybe  I  might  enjoy  wear- 
ing one  of  their  long  fluffy  white  wraps  like 
plumage — that  look  like  seraphs'  overcoats — and 
having  a  footman  in  a  fur  cape  to  call  my  car- 
riage. But  really,  I  don't  want  riches  or  fashion ; 
I  want  opportunity  only,  and  travel,  and  all  the 
music  I  can  get,  and  flowers  like  those  orchids, 
and  a  new  evening  frock — and  such  nice  things 
as  Mr.  Thorndyke  has  been  saying  to  me  about 
my  touch,  and — and  to  see  my  parents  take  a 
little  rest  from  work.  But  that's  what  I  talk 
about  to  Morry,  not  to  you.  When  his  ship  and 
mine  come  in,  you'll  see  what  we  shall  do  with 
our  cargoes." 

Thus  it  was  always.  While  she  filled  every 
chink  and  cranny  of  Colin 's  dreams  of  the 
future,  he  had  no  part  in  hers.  Swallowing  his 
pain,  he  tried  to  find  something  to  say  to  her 
about  his  pleasure  in  her  success.  He  dared  not 
venture  in  this  place  to  criticise  their  new  guest. 
336 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

"Oh!  thank  you,"  she  said,  studying  his  ap- 
pearance, apparently  for  the  first  time.  "And 
to  return  the  compliment,  I  ought  to  tell  you 
that  you  look — really  very  nice." 

"Morry  put  me  up  to  it,"  he  said,  glowing 
with  pleasure.  "We  had  a  council  over  my  old 
evening  rig  that  had  been  through  three  years  of 
the  University  before  it  came  to  New  York;  and 
he  decided  I  could  no  longer  pass  muster." 

"Yes,  I  like  you  in  these  clothes,"  she  said, 
critically.  "But  I  think — though  I'm  not  cer- 
tain— your  collar  should  not  turn  down  so  low — 
and  I'm  quite  sure  your  hair  is  too  long." 

"Really?"  he  exclaimed,  smiling  ecstatically. 
It  was  so  precious  to  have  her  speak  to  him  in 
this  proprietary  way,  even  though  he  knew,  too 
well,  alas!  that  she  was  inspired  by  less  than 
the  interest  of  a  sister.  He  would  have  been 
thankful,  indeed,  to  have  a  part  of  Maurice's 
share  in  her  regard. 

"Yes,  really,"  she  said.  "But  for  those  minor 
points,  I  believe  you  are  smart  enough  to  appear 
in  the  gilded  halls  of  Mrs.  Beaumoris,  where,  by 
the  way,  I  am  to  make  my  de"but  on  the  twenty- 
fifth  as  a  paid  performer." 

"You!  oh,  no!"  he  exclaimed,  impetuously, 
his  brown  face  reddening. 

"And  why  not,  pray?"  she  answered,  proudly 
237 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

resentful  of  his  protest.  "What  has  become 
of  your  theories  about  the  dignity  of  honest 
toil?" 

"It's  not  that — only — it  is  a  chariot  of  fire 
that  is  coming  to  snatch  you  away  from  me,"  he 
said,  simply,  and  in  spite  of  herself  Kathleen  was 
touched. 

Colin,  seeing  his  advantage,  tried  to  follow  it 
up.  But  it  is  the  misfortune  of  those  in  his 
peculiar  state,  that  the  very  force  of  their  desire 
to  be  agreeable  to  the  beloved  object  defeats 
their  chances  of  success.  He  could  find  nothing 
appropriate  to  say,  and  felt  as  he  looked — large, 
lumbering,  disconsolate. 

No  wonder  Kathleen  flitted  away  from  him 
to  laugh  and  chaff  lightly  with  the  others.  Even 
little  Catullus,  with  his  poses  and  bushy  hair  and 
solemn  fripperies,  made  the  time  pass  for  her 
more  trippingly  than  did  Morry's  friend. 

Terence,  however,  in  his  element  as  a  host, 
presiding  with  rare  grace  and  tact  over  their 
frugal  feast,  understood  better  than  any  one  the 
art  of  amalgamating  divers  elements  in  a  party. 
To  their  number  was  presently  added  Duval  of 
the  Clarion,  who  had  just  been  writing  his 

critique  of  the  last  new  play  at  the Theater, 

that  would  help  to  form  opinion  on  the  subject 

next  morning  at  many  breakfast  tables.     Talk 

238 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

took    itself   wings,  and    soon    was    stirring  with 
mirthful  impulse. 

Then  Terence,  who  possessed  a  tenor  voice 
that  might  have  coined  ducats  for  his  family 
where  his  pen  won  them  a  bare  livelihood,  sang 
some  of  his  Irish  melodies — not  Tom  Moore's 
only,  but  Lover's,  and  the  like.  Gazing  for  an 
inspiration  at  his  pretty  Kathleen,  he  trolled 
out  the  delicious  by-gone  serenade  that  carried 
his  wife  back  many  a  long  year,  and  brought  to 
her  eyes  the  tears  of  tenderest  sentiment. 

"Oh!  Molly  Bawn,  why  leave  me  pining, 

All  lonely  waiting  here  for  you, 
When  the  stars  above  are  brightly  shining 
Because  they've  nothing  else  to  do? 

"The  flowers  late  were  open  keeping, 

To  try  a  rival  blush  with  you; 
But  their  Mother  Nature  set  them  sleeping, 
With  their  rosy  faces  washed  in  dew. 

"The  wicked  watch  dog  loud  is  growling; 

He  takes  me  for  a  thief,  you  see; 
He  knows  I'd  steal  you,  Molly  darling, 
And  then  transported  I  should  be. 

"Oh!  Molly  Bawn,  why  leave  me  pining, 

All  lonely  waiting  here  for  you, 
When  the  stars  above  are  brightly  shining, 
Because  they've  nothing  else  to  do?" 

Of  all  Mr.  Blair's  listeners  the  only  one  who 
wore  an  expression  not  in  sympathy  with  the 
239 


THE   STOLEN  STRADIVARIUS 

pretty  tuneful  old  song  was  Catullus;  and  even 
he,  sitting  in  a  Yellow  Book  attitude,  exhibited 
the  grace  of  magnanimous  forbearance.  So  rapt 
were  the  others  in  the  charm  of  listening,  they 
paid  no  heed  to  "a  new  step  on  the  floor"  of  the 
adjoining  room.  It  was  a  pattering  little  step, 
much  as  if  a  mouse  was  scuttling  through  the 
house;  and  at  once  the  door  opened,  and  in 
came  a  tiny,  bright-eyed  old  lady,  fully  dressed 
and  wide-awake,  although  her  cap  was  a  tiny  bit 
askew. 

"Granny!"  cried  her  family  in  a  voice. 

"You  didn't  think,  Terry,  my  boy,  that  I 
could  stop  upstairs  in  bed,  and  hear  you  sing  the 
old  songs  down  below,"  answered  Granny, 
unabashed. 

'You're  like  the  'good  ould  Oirish  gintlemen, 
all  of  the  oulden  toime,'  Granny,"  said  Maurice, 
bringing  forward  her  especial  chair.  "Don't 
you  remember  how  he  was  supposed  to  be 
defunct,  and  his  friends  were  'waking'  him,  and 
the  candles  were  lighted  around  his  bed?  The 
corpse  stood  all  the  rest,  but  when  the  whisky 
corks  began  to  pop,  he  just  sprang  up  and 
shouted,  'Whoop!  Murther!  d'ye  think  I'll  be 
lying  here  dead,  when  such  good  stuff  as  that  is 
flying  around  my  head?'  " 

"For  shame,  saucy  boy,"  said  Granny,  giving 
240 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

her  pet  a  little  tap  upon  his  hand  that  still 
clasped  hers.  "No  supper,  thanks;  I  couldn't 
survive  it,  really;  and  not  a  wee  drop  of  the 
punch,  even.  Just  go  on  with  your  nonsense, 
good  people,  and  let  me  listen.  But  first  come 
here,  Kathleen,  child,  and  tell  me  how  you 
stood  your  trial." 

' '  Let  me  settle  your  dear  old  cap,  then, ' '  replied 
Kathleen,  proceeding  to  put  her  offer  into  exe- 
cution. "It's  all  right  about  me,  Granny;  I'm 
a  gold  mine,  as  you'll  say  when  you  know  what 
Mrs.  Beaumoris  is  going  to  pay  me  for  playing 
at  her  party.  And  as  to  what  Herr  Levitsky 
said,  that  will  keep  for  to-morrow.  Now,  papa, 
we  want  'Widow  Malone,'  as  only  you  can  sing 
it." 

"And  afterward,"  added  Thorndyke,  with 
effusion  uncommon  in  that  measured  personage, 
"Miss  Blair  will  surely  not  refuse  to  give  us  a 
taste  of  her  quality  on  the  violin. " 

Therefore,  in  due  course,  Miss  Blair,  standing 
under  the  old  clock,  lifted  her  fiddle-bow,  and 
lo!  the  air  about  them  thrilled  with  exquisite 
sound.  What  she  chose  first  to  reproduce  was 
the  quaint  German  Christmas  hymn,  "Joseph, 
lieber,  Joseph,  mein,"  written  by  Calvisius  five 
hundred  years  before.  Then  without  warning 
she  broke  into  Granny's  favorite  Irish  jig,  play- 
241 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

ing  it  with  such  resistless  vim  and  merriment 
that  every  foot  in  the  room  began  involuntarily 
to  keep  time,  and  every  face  wreathed  itself  into 
a  smile.  As  quickly  again  the  measure  changed, 
and  now  Kathleen  was  back  in  Crichton's 
studio,  and  her  hour  of  triumph  was  lived  again. 

"You  are  a  real  witch,"  said  Colin,  finding 
himself  near  her  after  this.  "You  have  got  all 
these  people  crazy  about  you.  While  you 
played,  I  was  wondering  if  you'll  ever  be  satisfied 
with  any  one  man  for  an  audience." 

He  turned,  annoyed.  There,  behind  him, 
stood  Mr.  Thorndyke,  silent,  inscrutable. 

"Indeed,  and  I  will!"  Kathleen  said,  merrily. 

"And  what  must  he  be  or  do  to  deserve  it?" 

"Be?"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "Like  the  donkey, 
all  ears.  And  do?  Give  me  a  Stradivarius!" 

A  little  later,  when  the  company  broke  up  and 
the  guests  went  their  several  ways,  Mackintosh, 
espying  his  forgotten  flowers,  had  no  longer  the 
impulse  to  offer  them  to  Kathleen.  The  events 
of  the  evening  and  the  attentions  of  Thorndyke 
had  made  her  recede  further  than  ever  from  his 
reach. 

"Will  you  ask  your  mother  to  have  these 
lilies?"  he  said,  awkwardly  thrusting  the  box 
upon  Maurice  in  the  hall,  and  hurrying  out  of  the 
house. 

343 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

When  Colin  reached  the  spot  he  by  courtesy 
called  home  he  let  himself  in  with  a  latch-key  at 
a  mean-looking  door,  and  climbed  three  flights  of 
stairs  to  his  den.  This  was  not  exactly  the  tra- 
ditional hall-bedroom  of  the  struggling  clerk, 
but  a  variant,  in  the  shape  of  a  middle  room, 
lighted  and  aired  by  a  small  skylight  in  the 
roof  only.  In  other  respects  it  was  as  cheerless 
as  a  ragged  carpet,  lame  furniture,  and  mis- 
matched crockery  could  make  it;  but  Colin 
thought  little  of  personal  comfort,  and  the  gloom 
of  his  meditation  as  he  threw  himself  upon  a 
creaking  chair  beside  his  iron  bed  was  not  due 
to  the  young  man's  meager  surroundings.  For 
almost  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  felt  a  sense 
of  impotency  in  meeting  the  future  in  fair  fight; 
and  his  ordinary  trustful  spirit  rebelled  against 
thus  leaving  his  affairs  to  "lie  on  the  knees  of 
the  gods!" 

"Give  her  a  Stradivarius!"  he  said  aloud,  bit- 
terly. And,  somehow,  with  the  phrase  mingled 
a  haunting  thought  of  the  man  with  the  angel 
face,  who  had  in  Colin's  hearing  spoken  words 
concerning  Kathleen  that  were  not  in  the  least 
angelic. 


343 


Ill 

The  words,  "Give  her  a  Stradivarius, "  had 
hardly  been  spoken  aloud  by  young  Mackintosh 
when  he  was  surprised  by  a  knocking  upon  the 
board  partition  dividing  his  attic  room  from  jthe 
one  adjoining  it.  After  a  pause,  during  which 
he  listened,  the  knocking  was  renewed. 

Colin,  rentembering  that  his  neighbor  was  an 
infirm  and  melancholy  looking  old  fellow,  whom 
he  sometimes  met  wearily  climbing  the  stairs 
with  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  brown  paper  bag  of 
comestibles  hugged  to  his  breast,  fancied  him- 
self called  upon  for  help.  He  had  but  just 
removed  his  coat  and,  putting  it  on,  hastily  ran 
out  into  the  entry,  and  tapped  at  the  door  of  the 
next  room. 

A  feeble  voice  called  to  him  to  come  in.  The 
interior  resembled  Colin's  own  in  lack  of  com- 
fort. A  gas-jet  was  burning,  which  revealed, 
lying  dressed  upon  the  bed  close  to  the  partition 
wall,  the  man  he  had  often  seen — gentle-faced, 
though  hollow-eyed,  and  evidently  racked  by 
some  chronic  malady. 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Colin's  neighbor, 
"but  I  must  have  been  dreaming.  I  awoke 
suddenly,  believing  I  heard  some  one  distinctly 
say,  'Give  her  a  Stradivarius!'  And  so  I 
knocked  on  the  wall,  the  way  I  used  to  call  my 
nephew  when  he  lived  with  me." 

"I  did  say  those  words,"  answered  Colin, 
blushing.  "I  was  thinking  aloud. " 

"I  beg  pardon  again,  sir,"  said  the  man,  sit- 
ting up  on  the  bed  with  an  eager  expression. 
"This  is  a  coincidence  I  think  you  will  agree  is 
remarkable.  I  had  fallen  asleep  thinking  of  a 
Stradivarius.  I  was  dreaming  of  it.  In  fact,  I 
rarely  think  of  anything  else,  in  these  days. 
For  to  have  owned  something  that  in  my  present 
poverty  would  have  been  a  little  fortune,  and  to 
have  had  it  stolen  from  me  by  my — Good  God! 
I  can't  speak  of  him.  It's  too  base  for  words. 
Mr.  Mackintosh,  I'm  ashamed  of  myself.  You 
see,  I  know  your  name.  Mine  is  Rupert  Thorn- 
dyke." 

"That  seems  somehow  familiar, "  said  Colin, 
racking  his  brain  to  recall  where  he  had  heard 
the  two  names  combined. 

"No  doubt,  like  most  of  us  working  folks,  you 
read  about  the  doings  of  the  fine  people  who  con- 
stitute high  'society  in  this  town.  Well,  among 
them  you  have  often  seen  that  name.  The  other 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

Rupert  Thorndyke  is  as  young  and  pushing  and 
successful  as  I  am  old  and  timid  and  collapsed. 
He  is  away  up  among  the  tiptops,  Mr.  Mackin- 
tosh— dines  and  wines  with  the  millionaires,  and 
gives  parties  at  his  own  rooms.  I  eat  bread  and 
ham  out  of  a  paper  bag  upon  yonder  table, 
and  am  thankful  when  I  can  afford  a  bottle  of 
beer  or  Rhine  wine  to  wash  it  down.  But  he's 
of  my  own  blood.  My  brother's  son,  and  my 
only  living  relative — named  for  me,  to  my  sor- 
row. When  his  father  was  in  business  with  me 
in  musical  instruments  at  —  Broadway  I  was 
the  senior  partner,  and  we  prospered  for  many 
years.  Then  my  brother  got  into  speculations, 
and  I  had  to  make  good  the  money  he  lost. 
Rupert,  who  was  a  clever  dog,  had  been  sent  by 
me  to  the  University.  Well,  my  brother  died  of 
a  broken  heart;  and  Rupert  came  to  live  with 
me  for  a  while.  Got  me  to  send  him  to  Europe 
once  or  twice,  which  I  could  ill  afford  to  do. 
He  was  such  a  handsome  fellow,  had  such  a  win- 
ning way  with  him,  one  could  refuse  him  noth- 
ing. Then  some  of  his  former  classmates  at 
college  voted  him  into  a  fashionable  club.  I 
paid  the  entrance  fee  and  dues,  keeping  my 
homely  self  out  of  sight  of  his  grand  companions. 
Mr.  Mackintosh,  you  will  wonder  at  my  want  of 
self-control.  But  you're  a  gentleman,  and  have 
246 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

got  a  heart,  too — I  can  see  it.  I've  often  wanted 
to  make  your  acquaintance." 

"Go  on,  if  it  relieves  you,  Mr.  Thorndyke, " 
said  the  young  man,  dropping  upon  a  chair 
beside  the  bed. 

"Then  you  will  honor  me  by  drinking  a  glass 
of  claret,"  said  the  other,  arising  with  some 
difficulty  from  his  recumbent  position.  "I  am 
rather  stiff  with  rheumatic  pains,  as  you  see.  I 
lay  down  here  before  dinner  to  rest  a  while,  and 
must  have  slept  till  now.  Pray  share  my  good 
luck.  My  employer — for  I  am  serving  where  I 
once  ruled,  Mr.  Mackintosh — gave  me  a  bottle 
of  Pontet  Canet  in  honor  of  his  birthday." 

"I  have  just  supped,  thank  you,"  said  Colin, 
unwilling  to  hurt  him  by  refusal.  "But  I'll  have 
a  glass  of  wine  with  you  with  pleasure." 

The  old  man,  shuffling  about,  produced  glasses 
and  a  bottle,  together  with  a  Bologna  sausage 
and  some  biscuits.  As  he  sat  munching  and  sip- 
ping opposite  Colin  at  table,  his  dull  eyes 
brightened  with  the  feast. 

"Good  stuff,  this,"  he  went  on.  "I'll  war- 
rant the  great  Mr.  Rupert  Thorndyke  has  no 
more  relish  for  his  supper  with  the  rich  and 
exclusive  Mrs.  Beaumoris  after  the  theater  to- 
night! My  employer  gives  me  his  morning 
paper  when  he  has  done  with  it,  Mr.  Mackintosh, 
247 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

and  I  bring  it  home,  and  under  this  gas-jet  read 
the  fashionable  intelligence.  I  always  know 
what's  going  on  in  society.  Look  at  this  old 
ledger;  I  have  cut  out  and  pasted  in  it  all  that 
is  said  about  my  namesake — where  he  goes,  and 
what  he  does.  Rupert  is  a  musical  virtuoso — 
hand  in  glove  with  all  the  artists,  who  sing  and 
play  at  his  rooms  for  nothing.  The  fine  ladies 
attend,  too,  and  admire  the  beautiful  upholstery 
and  decorations  that  I  paid  for  when  I  was  flush. 
Rupert  has  a  collection  of  musical  instruments, 
"small  but  unrivaled,'  so  the  papers  say.  Mr. 
Mackintosh,  I'd  give  a  year  of  my  life  to  look 
over  that  collection  and  make  sure  of  my — my — 
lost  Stradivarius. " 

"Do  you  mean  to  say — "  began  Colin,  indig- 
nantly. 

"When  I  failed  in  business  I  had  saved  that 
violin  to  be  sold  only  in  case  of  dire  emergency. 
Rupert,  better  than  another,  knew  its  value. 
He  always  coveted  it,  but  though  I  had  squeezed 
myself  dry  to  supply  him,  I  would  not  give  this 
up.  For  a  long  time,  I  should  tell  you,  I  kept 
on  terms  with  my  nephew.  I  never  obtruded 
myself,  but  I  saw  him  from  time  to  time,  taking 
a  fool's  pride  in  the  grand  gentleman  I  had  cre- 
ated." 

His  head  drooped  forward.  He  seemed  lost 
348 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

in  reverie.  Colin,  who  had  begun  this  adven- 
ture with  indifference,  felt  his  suspicions  awaken 
and  grow  keen  with  the  man's  story. 

"A  pride  I  am  afraid  your  nephew  did  not 
appreciate,  Mr.  Thorndyke,"  said  the  young 
man  finally,  to  arouse  him. 

"Eh!  Oh!  of  course  not,"  exclaimed  the 
instrument-maker,  coming  out  of  his  trance.  "I 
was  thinking  of  what  a  handsome  fellow  Rupert 
is.  His  eyes  are  so  blue,  his  smile  so  open,  his 
manner  so  winning,  no  one  under  God's  heaven 
would  take  him  to  be  a — oh!  is  he  that?  Has 
my  brother's  boy  fallen  so  low?  He  might  have 
turned  on  the  hand  that  fed  and  reared  him ;  he 
might  have  shaken  me  off  because  I  am  poor  and 
commonplace  and  rusty;  but  I  can't  believe — 
yet  what  must  I  believe?  Listen,  Mr.  Mackin- 
tosh, to  the  proofs.  After  my  failure,  as  I  said, 
I  had  put  away  my  precious  Stradivarius  in  its 
case,  in  a  trunk  in  the  one  room  I  kept — better 
than  this,  but  still,  one  room  only.  I  had  to  go 
over  to  Philadelphia,  once,  to  see  a  man  from 
whom  I  hoped  to  collect  a  few  hundreds  owing 
me.  I  came  back  rejoiced  because  I  had  got 
nearly  the  whole  sum.  The  maid  at  the  board- 
ing-house said  nobody  had  called  or  asked  for 
me  in  my  absence.  I  went  straight  to  the  trunk, 
and  opened  it  to  put  away  my  cash.  I  found 
249 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

the  violin-case  empty — the  treasure  gone!  Just 
as  I  was  about  to  give  the  alarm  to  the  house,  I 
saw  on  the  floor  under  the  edge  of  the  trunk, 
this—" 

He  took  from  his  pocket  an  unset  scarabeus, 
jade-green  in  hue,  that  might  have  been  worn 
in  a  man's  ring  or  pin. 

"It  was  his.  I  had  often  seen  him  wear  it  in 
a  scarf.  He  had  showed  it  to  me  on  his  first 
return  from  Cairo.  How  could  I  alarm  the 
boarding-house,  or  set  the  police  upon  the  track 
of  Rupert?  Rupert  a  th —  Oh,  no!  I  won't 
say  the  word!  Not  till  it's  proved  will  I  call 
him  so.  I  found  traces  of  wax  on  my  latch-key 
of  the  house  door,  that  I  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  throwing,  with  my  other  keys,  on  the  dress- 
ing-table every  night.  Rupert  had  recently  sent 
a  man  there  with  a  note  enclosing  me  a  present 
of  twenty-five  dollars.  While  I  wrote  the  answer 
the  man  must  have  taken  the  impression  of  my 
keys.  Mr.  Mackintosh,  I  had  mistrusted  that 
gift  of  money,  though  I  kept  it  to  pay  my  way 
to  Philadelphia,  and  my  board.  Although  I  had 
given  Rupert  all,  it  was  the  first  he  had  given 
me.  I  returned  it  to  him  the  day  after  my  dis- 
covery of  the  loss,  with  two  lines,  "Take  your 
money,  and  give  me  back  my  Stradivarius. " 
He  answered  in  such  a  brutal  tone  it  makes  me 
250 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

sick  to  think  of  it,  disclaiming  all  knowledge  of 
my  Stradivarius.  I  burnt  his  letter,  but  these 
words  are  sunk  into  my  heart,  'From  this  time 
forth  I  refuse  to  see  or  to  speak  to  one  who  has 
done  me  this  foul  wrong. '  That  was  two  years 
ago,  Mr.  Mackintosh — two  years  ago.  I  have 
not  prospered  since ;  I  am  living  on  a  pittance 
of  pay  because  the  times  are  hard,  and  my  em- 
ployer has  nothing  like  the  business  we  used  to 
have.  Are  you  cold,  sir?  If  so,  I  can  light  the 
gas-stove.  I  keep  it  for  very  cold  weather  gen- 
erally. My  nephew,  as  I  said,  has  gone  to  a 
play  to-night,  to  see  Sara  Bernhardt,  with  a  party 
invited  by  Mrs.  Beaumoris.  His  friends  are 
very  exclusive,  and  he  is  a  great  favorite — or 
perhaps  it  was  last  night  he  went  to  the  theater; 
I  am  losing  my  memory,  you  see." 

"How  does  he  continue  to  cut  such  a  dash 
without  fortune?"  asked  Colin,  anxious  to  satisfy 
himself  without  exciting  the  poor  old  fellow's 
suspicion. 

"Nobody  knows  exactly.  He  was  always 
lucky  in  speculation,  and  very  daring.  I  gave 
him  money  to  start  with — all  I  could  spare — and 
he  went  on  and  on.  Yes,  he  must  have  a  good 
purse  to  live  as  he  does.  I  don't  envy  Rupert; 
but  oh !  if  I  had  the  courage  to  go  to-night  and 
try  to  get  into  his  rooms — to  say  I  am  his  uncle 
251 


THE   STOLEN    STRADIVARIUS 

and  could  wait  till  he  came  in — and  then  search 
there,  and  find  out — " 

"Perhaps  he  has  sold  the  Stradivarius,"  said 
Colin. 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  Mr.  Mackintosh.  I  hope 
against  hope  that  he's  keeping  it  as  the  gem  of 
his  collection — that  I  may  one  day  look  at  it 
again.  I'd  know  it  in  a  hundred.  There  is  a 
tiny  vein  of  color  in  the  wood,  that  looks  like 
a  hand  with  an  outstretched  finger,  on  the  right 
side,  near  the  bridge  of  the  instrument.  Enough 
for  any  one — for  you,  for  instance,  who  know 
nothing  of  violins,  to  identify  it  by.  But  I'd 
know  my  beauty,  as  far  as  I  could  see  her!" 

As  he  filled  a  cracked  glass  with  grape-juice 
for  the  third  time  and  tossed  it  off,  Colin  saw 
that  unusual  treat  had  affected  his  poor  old 
brain. 

"/»  vino  veritas,  Mr.  Mackintosh,"  he 
resumed,  smiling  wistfully.  "I've  told  you  my 
story  as  it  hasn't  passed  my  lips  since  I  got 
my  death  wound.  You  go  into  society,  don't 
you?  I  judge  from  this,"  touching  the  sleeve  of 
Colin's  evening  coat. 

"To  a  very  limited  degree,"  said  Mackintosh, 
feeling  much  abashed. 

"Because,  I  thought  if  you  do,  it  might  come 
in  your  way  to  help  me."  But  in  the  act  of 
253 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

making  this  suggestion  the  instrument-maker 
forgot  what  he  had  begun  to  say.  He  wandered, 
grew  drowsy;  and  Colin,  soon  aiding  him  to  bed, 
left  him  there  sound  asleep. 

The  pathos  of  this  incident  dwelt  with  Mack- 
intosh for  days.  He  longed  to  tell  Kathleen, 
whose  interest,  he  knew,  would  be  keenly  aroused 
in  view  of  the  object  of  the  old  artisan's  mania. 
But  in  one  way  or  another  Colin  failed  to  see  any 
of  the  Blair  family.  He  continued  to  meet  Thorn- 
dyke  on  the  stairs,  and  to  exchange  greetings 
with  him.  There  was,  however,  no  repetition 
of  the  first  attempt  at  confidence.  Thorndyke, 
as  if  aware  that  he  had  betrayed  too  much, 
looked  shy  of  further  converse  with  his  stalwart 
and  friendly  young  neighbor.  Colin  had  almost 
begun  to  think  the  whole  story  a  dream. 

At  last,  when  the  need  to  look  upon  Kath- 
leen's bright  face  became  overpowering,  Colin 
turned,  late  one  afternoon,  through  a  softly  fall- 
ing veil  of  snow  in  the  direction  of  the  Blairs' 
house.  As  he  shook  off  the  feathered  flakes 
upon  their  door  mat,  he  pleased  himself  by  be- 
lieving he  would  be  asked  to  walk  at  once  into 
the  cosy  intimacy  of  the  family  room,  where  at 
that  hour  Kathleen  and  her  mother  were  wont 
to  meet  for  tea. 

Kathleen  would  be  wearing  her  gown  of  brown 
253 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

serge,  with  the  slashes  of  crimson,  that  so  well 
became  her  glowing  brunette  beauty — looking 
like  the  genius  of  home!  Mrs.  Blair  would  put 
away  her  galley  slips  and  blue  pencil,  and  come 
over  to  the  tea-table  beside  the  coal  fire.  Both 
of  these  gentle  creatures  would  turn  upon  him 
the  gaze  of  friendliest  interest. 

Colin's  gateway  of  hope,  in  the  shape  of  Mr. 
Blair's  front  door,  moved  inward.  Behind  it 
stood  an  elderly  woman,  endeavoring  to  dry  her 
parboiled  hands  upon  a  checked  apron  before 
receiving  the  visitor's  card  between  thumb  and 
finger. 

"Yes,  sir,  gone  out;  both  Miss  Kathleen  and 
the  madam,"  she  said,  with  bursting  pride.  "It 
was  in  a  cab  that  I  fetched  meself  from  the 
stable.  Some  kind  of  a  grand  music  party, 
where  our  young  lady  was  goin'  to  play,  sir;  and 
they'd  not  be  out  of  it  till  after  six.  No.  6 — 
Fifth  Avenue,  sir,  they  told  the  coachman.  Per- 
haps you'd  be  knowin*  the  house,  Mr.  Mackin- 
tosh?" 

Colin,  blessing  his  stupidity  in  forgetting  that 
this  was  Kathleen's  important  twenty-fifth, 
retraced  his  steps.  Down  fell  his  air-castle  of  a 
quiet  hour  with  her.  Vanished  his  fond  imagin- 
ing of  some  token  from  her  of  sweet  half-hidden 
regret  that  they  had  been  so  long  apart.  With 
254 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

cruel  clearness  of  sight  he  beheld  the  true  ambi- 
tion of  her  life.  By  the  time  he  should  have 
taken  a  slow  step  higher  in  his  profession,  Kath- 
leen would  have  soared  into  an  empyrean, 
whither  he  could  not  follow.  Henceforward  a 
fret  and  fever  for  public  approbation  would  pos- 
sess her  young  being;  she  would  be  forever 
unfitted  to  plod  through  life  at  a  poor  man's 
side — and,  spite  of  his  great  love,  Colin  had  no 
mind  to  be  the  appendage  of  a  successful  public 
favorite. 

Doggedly,  obstinately,  the  young  fellow 
tramped  far  uptown,  welcoming  the  sting  of  wind 
and  snow  in  his  face.  Near  the  confines  of 
the  Park  he  found  himself,  his  bare  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  his  overcoat,  his  face  reddened  with 
cold,  his  jaw  set,  his  eyes  heavy,  brought  to  a 
halt  before  the  house  indicated  to  him  by  the 
Blair's  voluble  maid. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  a  festivity  was 
in  progress  behind  the  brick  and  marble  front 
here  presented  to  the  avenue.  Over  a  carpet 
running  out  to  the  curbstone,  guests  were  passing 
to  and  from  their  carriages,  beneath  the  shelter 
of  an  awning  lighted  by  pendent  lanterns.  Spite 
of  the  snow,  the  aperture  on  either  side  the 
tunnel  of  striped  canvas  was  blocked,  not  only 
by  footmen  comfortably  humped  in  mountains 
255 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

of  black  fur,  but  by  the  lookers-on,  who  seem  to 
be  never  tired  of  this  common  phase  of  a  city's 
pleasuring. 

Colin,  on  the  outer  edge  of  one  flank  of  the 
vagrant  army,  stood  for  a  while,  governed  by 
some  impulse  he  could  not  have  explained. 
Among  his  comrades  were  one  or  two  women  and 
children,  miserably  clad,  content  to  stand  gap- 
ing at  the  show.  Colin,  to  all  appearance  one 
of  their  class,  excited  no  surprise,  except  that  a 
tawdry  girl  wearing  an  old  feather  boa  coquet- 
tishly  around  her  throat  asked  him  with  some 
vexation  not  to  go  crowding  other  folks  out  of 
the  places  they  had  got  before  he  came. 

A  lady  effecting  her  exit  from  the  house,  was 
met  by  a  young  man  who  had  just  jumped  out 
of  a  hansom,  whom  she  greeted  in  accents  mater- 
nally affectionate. 

"-So  late,  Mr.  Thorndyke?"  she  said,  in  stac- 
cato reproach.  "It's  almost  over  now,  and 
Levitsky  will  play  no  more.  But  Anatolia  is 
just  about  to  sing  her  last.  Nothing  would 
tempt  me  to  leave,  but  that  Nita,  poor  girl,  is  at 
home  with  a  bad  throat." 

"It's  a  success,   then?"  said  (ignoring  Nita) 
the  young  man,  at  whom  Colin  Mackintosh  gazed 
eagerly,  seeking  to  be  convinced  of  his  identity 
with  the  thief  of  the  Stradivarius. 
356 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

He  was  handsome,  golden-haired,  open-faced, 
smiling.  What  a  brave  nephew  for  the  old 
neighbor  on  the  attic  landing!  But  Colin  did 
not  know  his  Christian  name,  and  that — 

"Ha,  Rupert,"  said  a  man,  coming  out. 
"Why  are  you  behind  time?  There's  a  new  girl 
playing  on  the  violin  that  I  know  will  please  your 
fastidious  fancy." 

The  lady's  trim  little  brougham  now  stopping 
the  way,  the  two  young  men  aided  her  footman 
to  introduce  her  goodly  bulk  within  its  open 
door.  At  this  achievement,  the  group  around 
the  awning  uttered  an  "A — a — h!"  of  satisfac- 
tion, and  the  carriage  drove  away. 

"Any  new  violinist  that  is  worth  the  asking 
you  may  count  upon  at  my  party  on  Wednesday 
night,"  said  Thorndyke,  carelessly.  "And  as  I 
know  the  young  person  in  question  fairly  well, 
I  have  little  doubt  of  getting  her  to  do  what  I 
wish.  If  you  are  fyris,  Clarkson,  drop  in  and  I'll 
give  you  a  chance  at  her." 

"All  right,  old  chap,  good-by. " 

As  the  two  men  separated,  Colin  clenched  his 
fists. 

None  too  soon  for  Kathleen's  eager  ambition 
had  arrived  the  day  of  her  appearance  before  an 
audience  that  would  make  or  mar  her  hope  of 
257 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

establishing    herself    as  a   performer,  at   semi- 
private  concerts. 

Punctual  to  the  hour  appointed  by  her 
patroness,  the  rusty  cab,  that  in  the  eyes  of  the 
Blairs'  maid  servant  had  conferred  style  upon 
their  dwelling  by  pulling  up  in  front  of  it,  had 
deposited  at  the  Beaumoris  portal  the  young 
violinist  and  her  mother. 

In  a  wide  hall,  beneath  orange  trees  ranged 
against  tapestries  of  great  age  and  fabulous  value, 
they  were  received  by  two  automata  in  claret 
and  silver  livery,  whose  mission  on  gala  days  it 
was  to  forever  point  out  to  guests  the  way 
toward  distant  cloak-rooms.  The  fiddle-case, 
no  less  than  the  hesitating  manner  of  their  entry, 
betraying  our  ladies  to  these  potentates,  they 
were  hurried  with  scant  courtesy  upstairs,  and 
bidden  to  wait  in  the  morning-room  until  the 
pleasure  of  the  mistress  concerning  them  should 
be  ascertained. 

Kathleen  saw  the  flush  on  her  mother's  cheek 
at  the  moment  when  Molly  caught  the  gleam  in 
her  child's  eye. 

"Don't  mind,  darling." 

"It's   a   mistake,    of   course,   dearest,"  were 
spoken    simultaneously.      Thereupon    the    two 
grasped  hands  for  a  little  reassuring  squeeze,  and 
looked  around  them  comforted. 
'58 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

Neither  had  seen  anything  comparable  to  this 
boudoir,  its  fantastic  furnishings  gathered  from 
every  quarter  of  the  globe,  its  floor  strewn  with 
skins  and  rugs  soft  as  velvet,  its  litter  of  costly 
curios,  and  cushions  heaped  upon  gilded  couches. 
Kathleen,  getting  up  to  pace  the  room  with  a 
free,  impatient  step,  paused  oftenest  before  the 
clusters  of  long-stemmed  roses  that  hung  their 
royal  heads  over  the  rim  of  tall  crystal  vases, 
and  the  gems  of  pictures  upon  the  satin  back- 
ground of  the  walls.  Then  standing  amazed  by 
the  writing-table,  with  its  fittings  and  toys  of 
beaten  silver,  she  whispered,  merrily: 

"What  a  contrast  to  our  war-worn  old  writing 
things  at  home.  Upon  this  blotter  one  could 
only  write  invitations  to  a  Vere  de  Vere. " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  Frenchwoman,  whose 
entry,  with  the  glib  assurance  that  Madame 
would  see  them  shortly,  conveyed  more  of  com- 
radeship than  of  respect. 

There  was  a  long  wait.  Kathleen,  wearied  of 
her  splendid  prison,  employed  her  time  by  fall- 
ing upon  a  novel,  of  whose  contents  she  pos- 
sessed herself  after  the  rapid  fashion  of  the 
reader  accustomed  to  absorb  new  books. 

Mrs.  Blair  took  up  no  volume.  In  silence  she 
sat  thinking  of  the  days  when  she  and  Lottie 
Earl,  now  the  owner  of  this  stately  domicile,  had 
259 


THE  STOLEN  STRADIVARIUS 

been  schoolmates  and  bosom  friends.  To  shut 
her  eyes  to  the  Beaumoris  luxury  was  to  conjure 
up  Lottie's  early  home  in  Clinton  Place,  whither 
Molly  had  often  repaired  by  invitation  to  spend 
Saturdays.  The  sad-colored  walls  hung  with 
dreary  landscapes  in  oil,  upon  which  no  eye  was 
ever  seen  to  cast  a  fleeting  glance ;  the  carpet 
and  curtains  flowered  garishly,  the  basement 
dining-room,  the  little  girls  exchanging  vows  of 
friendship! 

A  more  tender  memory  was  that  of  the  day 
when  Lottie's  mother  had  died.  Was  it  not 
Molly  for  whom  they  had  sent  to  soothe  and 
console  the  terrified  child?  Molly's  faithful 
breast  upon  which  Lottie  that  night  had  sobbed 
herself  to  sleep? 

The  door  again  opened.  This  time  it  was 
Mrs.  Beaumoris  in  person,  attired  for  the  recep- 
tion of  her  guests — Mrs.  Beaumoris,  perplexed, 
annoyed,  an  open  letter  in  her  hand.  It  was  an 
easier  matter  for  this  lady  to  recognize  fresh, 
bright-eyed  Molly  Christian,  who,  under  the 
impulse  of  fond  retrospect,  now  sprang  up  to 
greet  her,  than  for  Molly  to  identify  her  old 
playmate  in  this  faded  woman,  with  the  pale  hair 
elaborately  crimped,  the  cold,  restless  blue 
eyes — the  prim,  unsmiling  mouth! 

Mrs.  Blair's  affectionate  words  died  upon  her 
260 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

lips.  She  faltered,  blushed,  and  drew  back  with 
a  pang  at  the  plain  indication  that  her  surprise 
was  as  unwelcome  as  it  was  ill-timed. 

"You — you — are  Miss  Blair's  mother?"  said 
Mrs.  Beaumoris,  in  tones  she  could  not  make 
other  than  thin  and  chill.  "Why  was  I  not  told 
of  this  before?" 

"Because — because,"  began  Molly,  and  emo- 
tion overpowered  her,  cutting  short  her  speech. 

"My  mother  thought  it  could  naturally  make 
no  difference  whose  child  you  had  hired  to  play 
before  your  guests,"  said  Kathleen,  sweeping 
grandly  into  the  breach.  "But  we  are  quite 
ready  to  go  away  now,  if  the  arrangement  does 
not  please  you." 

"Of  course  not,"  exclaimed  their  hostess, 
recovering  herself.  "You  will  excuse  me  if  I 
am  a  little  upset,  when  I  tell  you  that  not  fifteen 
minutes  ago  I  received  this  letter  from  Madame 
Claudia's  manager,  saying  the  tiresome  creature 
has  a  cold  and  can't  sing  this  afternoon.  All  I 
could  do  was  to  send  off  my  maid  in  a  cab, 
offering  Claudia's  terms  to  Anatolia,  who'll 
come,  I'm  pretty  sure,  if  for  nothing  but  a  chance 
to  supplant  Claudia.  Anatolia  can't  stand  being 
last  year's  favorite,  and  really  she  sang  adorably 
in  Faust  last  week,  when  Claudia  was  ill,  don't 
you  think  so — or  did  you  not  chance  to  hear 
261 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

her?  If  she  comes,  she'll  be  here  for  the  end  of 
the  first  half  of  the  programme.  Your  daughter 
will  play  just  before  her — and  will  no  doubt  have 
encores.  Levitsky  says  everything  that  is  nice 
of  you,  Miss — er — you  have  no  professional  name, 
I  believe?" 

"My  name  is  Kathleen  Blair,"  said  the  girl, 
carrying  her  head  high.  Into  her  heart,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  entered  the  wandering 
demon  of  revenge.  She  longed  to  be  in  a  posi- 
tion to  return  impertinence ! 

Kathleen's  second  number  upon  the  programme 
of  Mrs.  Beaumoris's  concert  left  no  doubt  of 
her  success.  Levitsky  himself  had  conducted  her 
before  the  audience.  Madame  Anatolia  had 
coquettishly  (in  view  of  the  audience)  presented 
the  girl  with  her  corsage  bouquet  of  violets.  As 
Kathleen  retired  again  into  the  little  room  serv- 
ing as  a  harbor  for  the  performers,  the  musical 
Miss  Beaumoris  (who  kept  outsiders  from  intrud- 
ing there),  looking  very  sour,  asked  Miss  Blair 
to  allow  Mr.  Rupert  Thorndyke  to  compliment 
her  upon  her  achievement. 

Kathleen  possessed  just  enough  of  the  spice 
of  Mother  Eve  to  see  that  this  courtesy  on  the 
part  of  Miss  Beaumoris  had  been  wrung  from  her 
by  the  newcomer.  Madame  Anatolia,  whom  Mr. 
Thorndyke  saluted  with  an  air  of  cordial  inti- 
262 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

macy,  leaned  over  and  whispered  in  the  young 
girl's  ear: 

"Take  care  how  you  enjoy  the  dangerous  de- 
light of  his  company  in  this  house.  They  consider 
him  their  own  particular  property." 

Molly  Blair,  standing  guard  over  her  beautiful 
and  successful  child,  could  not  understand  the 
reckless  toss  of  Kathleen's  head,  the  defiance  of 
her  curled  lip. 

"That  lends  zest!"  Kathleen  answered  to 
Anatolia,  who  smiled.  The  prima  donna,  know- 
ing the  world  as  she  did,  had  no  objection  to 
enjoy  a  small  comedy  behind  the  scenes.  Nor 
was  she  disappointed.  Rupert  Thorndyke,  with 
an  air  of  entire  unconsciousness,  refrained  from 
again  turning  toward  the  musical  Miss  Beaumoris. 
With  his  handsome  head  bent  over  the  newly 
risen  star,  he  exerted  all  his  powers  of  fascina- 
tion. He  was  no  longer  the  cool,  indifferent 
person  who  had  dropped  in  at  the  Blair's  little 
supper.  Kathleen,  excited,  inclined  to  accept 
him  at  his  face  value  as  a  favored  frequenter  of 
the  Beaumoris's  house,  and  finding  herself  not  a 
little  under  the  spell  of  his  charm  of  manner  and 
sympathy  of  taste,  enjoyed  retaining  him.  Until 
the  time  Mrs.  and  Miss  Blair  left  the  Beaumoris's 
house  he  was  in  close  attendance  at  their  side. 
And  when  they  parted  he  had  obtained  Mrs. 
263 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

Blair's  rather  dazzled  permission  to  call  upon 
them  the  next  day. 

Thorndyke,  meaning  to  put  these  ladies  in 
their  carriage,  was  recalled  on  the  portal  by  the 
imperious  Miss  Beaumoris,  who  had,  she  said,  to 
consult  him  about  a  prote'ge'  of  hers  she  desired 
to  launch  at  his  musicale  on  Wednesday. 

"Until  to-morrow,  then,"  said  Rupert  Thorn- 
dyke,  regretfully  turning  back. 

"Mother,  he  is  absolutely  beautiful!"  said 
Kathleen,  with  a  girl's  ecstasy,  as  they  went 
down  to  stand  on  the  sodden  carpet  waiting  for 
their  cab  to  come  up.  "I  think  he  must  be  some 
prince  in  disguise,  or  something!  Such  a  noble 
air,  such  aristocratic  features!  And  better  than 
all,  mummy  dearest,  he  has  confided  to  me  that 
he  gives  music  parties  at  his  rooms,  and  we're 
asked  to  the  next  one,  on  Wednesday." 

"I  suppose  it  is  all  right,"  said  Molly.  "Or, 
of  course,  the  Beaumorises  would  not  be  having 
him." 

"They  can't  always  get  him,  as  you  saw,"  said 
Kathleen,  laughing.  "I  hope  it  was  not  wicked 
to  be  as  glad  as  I  was  when  I  saw  their  two  cross 
faces  while  he  talked  so  long  to  me.  But  never 
mind  the  man,  mother.  There  is  a  joy  still  greater 
in  store  for  me.  He  says  if  I'll  play  for  him  on 
Wednesday,  I  may  handle  his  Stradivarius!" 
264 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

The  cab  that  had  brought  Miss  Blair  to  the 
scene  of  her  triumphs  was  not  forthcoming. 
The  hoarse  calls  for  it  up  and  down  the  line  were 
unavailing. 

"It's  but  a  step  to  the  street-car,  mother,  if 
we  run  for  it,"  cried  Kathleen,  gayly,  peering 
into  the  half-darkness  at  the  open  side  of  the 
awning. 

"I  will  take  you  home,  if  you  don't  mind," 
said  a  voice  out  of  the  crowd,  and  Colin  edged 
his  way  toward  them ! 

Colin  was  cold  and  out  of  humor.  But  he  had 
lingered  on,  and  this  was  his  reward. 

"How  delightful  to  see  you!"  exclaimed  his 
lady-love,  heartily,  and  was  indorsed  by  her 
mamma.  "So  strange  you  should  be  passing 
just  at  this  minute!  It  will  be  ever  so  much 
nicer  having  you,  of  course.  Now  let  us  run, 
and  jam  ourselves  into  the  next  car." 

Mrs.  Blair  being  seated  with  the  violin-case 
on  her  lap,  the  two  young  people  stood  side  by 
side  in  the  crowded  aisle  of  a  Madison  Avenue 
car  going  downtown.  Colin  heard  from  his 
eager  comrade  the  full  account  of  her  exhilarat- 
ing afternoon.  It  made  him  sad,  even  while  his 
generous  heart  rejoiced  in  her  rejoicing,  to  see 
that  she  was  already  embarked  with  sails  filled 
and  pennons  flying  upon  the  broad  sea  that 
265 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

would  separate  them.  And  he  wondered  she 
said  nothing  about  the  person  whose  name 
excited  his  keenest  curiosity. 

Perhaps  Kathleen  felt  guilty  of  having  hailed 
rather  too  gladly  Mr.  Rupert  Thorndyke's 
distinguished  homage.  But  even  Madame 
Anatolia  had  told  her  that  his  verdict  was  of 
importance  in  the  musical  world. 

"We  all  bow  to  him,"  had  said  the  good- 
natured  donna;  "and  he  is  badly  spoiled,  of 
course.  Don't  let  your  feelings  get  involved, 
like  that  poor,  ugly  Miss  Beaumoris.  Thorndyke 
is  a  mystery — and,  I'm  afraid,  volage!" 

Kathleen  had  laughed !  She  had  no  fear  for 
herself. 

"And  you  are  to  keep  on  with  this  kind  of 
thing?"  now  said  Colin,  discontentedly. 

"Of  course!"  exclaimed  she.  "Two  ladies  have 
already  booked  my  humble  services;  although 
one  of  them  did  say,  in  excuse  for  herself,  that 
anything  Mrs.  Beaumoris  started  is  sure  to 
run  on  for  a  while." 

"I  shall  never  hear  you  perform,"  he  went  on. 
"So  I'll  try  to  forget  it.  If  I  had  my  way,  I'd 
carry  you  off  to  a  cloud-castle  and  keep  you 
shut  in  from  all  these  insolent  people." 

"But  you  can't,  Master  Colin,  so  be  satisfied," 
266 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

said  she,  coloring  a  little  at  the  fervor  he  could 
not  exclude  from  his  tones.  "And  as  to  hear- 
ing me,  you  shall  have  an  opportunity  without 
delay.  Let  us  see  if  you  are  so  eager  to  accept 
it." 

"I  will  go  wherever  you  bid  me,"  he  replied, 
more  and  more  under  the  charm  of  her  close 
vicinity. 

"Promise." 

"I  promise." 

"How  one's  eloquence  is  jolted  out  of  one  by 
this!"  she  said,  as  they  swung  around  the  curve 
into  the  tunnel.  "Well,  here  is  your  chance. 
Next  week  we  are  invited  to  a  very  exclusive 
musicale.  Levitsky's  to  be  there,  and  Anatolia — 
and  I'm  to  play  (think  of  it,  Colin!)  on  a  Stradi- 
varius!  Wait,  don't  interrupt  me.  We  were 
asked  to  bring  my  father,  or  brother,  as  our 
escort,  and  neither  papa,  nor  Morry  can  get  off, 
I  know.  Papa  has  a  club  meeting,  and  Morry's 
slaving,  day  and  night,  to  finish 's  illustra- 
tions. So,  if  you'll  take  us  to  the  party,  we'll 
be  only  too  much  obliged." 

"I  will,  of  course.  But  tell  me — it  is  a  matter 
of  the  deepest  interest — who  is  to  furnish  your 
Stradivarius?" 

"It  belongs  to  the  gentleman  who  is  to  give 
the  party,  and  Madame  Anatolia  says  his  rooms 
267 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

and  collection  of  musical  instruments  are  'things 
to  be  seen. '  He  is  one  of  the  favorites  of  for- 
tune, and  is  coming  to  call  on  us  in  form  to-mor- 
row— and  his  name  is — Rupert  Thorndyke!" 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Colin,  turning  pale  with 
excitement,  and  perhaps  a  little  jealousy. 

"What,  you,  too,  know  about  the  wonderful 
Mr.  Thorndyke?  Oh!  but,  of  course,  I  remem- 
ber, you  met  him  at  supper  at  our  house  when 
he  brought  me  those  white  orchids,  and  you  gave 
mamma  some  lilies.  Don't  you  think  his  face 
is  like  one  of  the  angels  in  the  photograph  over 
papa's  chair  in  the  library?  Now,  don't  laugh — 
it  is,  exactly.  Mr.  Thorndyke  isn't  in  the  least 
my  idea  of  a  man  of  fashion.  He  is  almost  art- 
less— and  his  eyes  are  so  blue.  Colin,  what  in 
the  world  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"I  do  know  something  of  your  Mr.  Rupert 
Thorndyke,"  said  the  young  man,  his  face  dark- 
ening. "But  I  shan't  tell  you  yet.  It  is  borne 
in  upon  me  that  a  better  occasion  will  come. 
And  if  you  really  accept  my  escort,  I  shall  accom- 
pany you  with  pleasure  to  this  gentleman's  party. 
A  poor  outsider,  more  or  less,  cannot  spoil  his 
harmonious  entertainment." 

Kathleen,    wondering     at    all    this,    reached 
home,   the   ladies   bidding   Colin  good-by  upon 
268 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

their  doorstep.  That  evening,  when  Malvolio 
dropped  in  to  see  Terence  Blair,  the  news  of 
Kathleen's  advance  up  the  ladder  of  fame  was 
communicated  to  him. 

"Sure  and  Kathleen's  the  boldest  little  girl," 
commented  Granny.  "It's  my  belief  she'd  have 
no  fear  to  be  called  on  to  play  before  the  Presi- 
dent himself." 

"I  know  little  about  Rupert  Thorndyke, "  said 
Terence;  "but  there's  no  doubt  he  will  have  only 
the  best  talent  in  his  sling.  But  you,  Malvolio, 
who  know  everything — " 

"Excepting  the  reason  for  Catullus  Clarke," 
interpolated  the  art  critic. 

" — should  be  able  to  define  for  us  the  place  of 
our  new  patron  in  the  arts." 

Malvolio  shrugged,  tossing  his  snaky  locks  to 
one  side  of  his  high,  white  forehead. 

"Rupert  Thorndyke's  secret  will  never  be 
fathomed  until  they  dissect  him,"  he  said;  "and 
then  in  the  core  of  his  heart  will  be  found  the 
one  word  'Self.'  He  is  a  monumental  egoist,  in 
the  guise  of  a  seraph.  He  is  brilliant  and 
treacherous,  unstable  as  water,  holding  no  con- 
victions long  enough  to  make  anything  he  says 
or  does  of  lasting  value.  I  am  certain  that  he 
is  half-educated,  half-baked  in  all  respects.  I 
believe  most  of  his  'experiences'  of  life  to  be 
269 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

clever  adaptations  from  things  other  people  have 
done,  or  told,  or  printed.  But  he  is  vastly  good 
company,  and  I'd  be  deuced  glad  if  he  were 
coming  to  dine  with  me  to-morrow.  As  to  his 
status,  he  is  apparently  well  off — has  one  foot  in 
Bohemia,  the  other  in  society — and  comes  from 
nobody  knows  where.  Lastly,  we  are  informed 
that  he  might  marry  the  oldest  Miss  Beaumoris, 
and  does  not  aspire  to  do  so!" 

The  blushes  dyed  Kathleen's  cheeks  at  the 
confirmation  of  Colin's  warning. 

"Then  you  think,  Mr.  Malvolio,  our  girl  had 
better  not  be  seen  at  his  party?"  said  Mrs.  Blair, 
anxiously. 

"My  dear  madame!  On  the  contrary.  I 
should  like  amazingly  to  be  seen  there  myself. 
It  is  sure  to  be  a  rare  treat  to  eye  and  ear.  The 
women  will  be  of  the  highest  world  only. 
The  men  judiciously  combined.  But  I  have 
always  had  an  idea  that  Thorndyke  will  some 
day  come  a  cropper.  I  feel  like  that  fellow  that 
followed  the  menagerie  around  in  order  to  be 
there  the  day  the  lion-tamer  should  get  eaten  by 
the  lions.  The  day  the  accident  occurred  was 
the  one  he  was  kept  away.  I  have  a  conviction  I 
shan't  see  Thorndyke's  discomfiture — but  I  could 
wish  that,  to  round  out  my  theory  of  him,  the 
fates  might  accord  to  me  this  privilege." 
270 


THE   STOLEN  STRADIVARIUS 

Kathleen,  who  would  not  have  admitted  to  her 
mother  even,  the  thrill  of  excitement  she  had 
been  in  since  receiving  the  first  fruits  of  Thorn- 
dyke's  homage,  went  to  bed  that  night,  feeling 
chastened  in  her  pride.  With  her  last  waking 
thoughts  of  the  irresistible  Thorndyke,  blended 
the  image  of  loyal  Colin,  whom,  after  consulta- 
tion with  their  maid-servant,  she  now  knew  to 
have  been  waiting  outside  Mrs.  Beaumoris's  awn- 
ing for  her  in  the  falling  snow. 

Molly  Blair,  too,  following  a  long  talk  with 
her  husband,  that  freed  her  fond  heart  of  its 
weight  of  pride  in  and  anxiety  for  Kathleen, 
went  to  sleep  happy.  With  so  many  loving 
souls  around  her,  Terence  had  said,  Kathleen 
would  be  well  guarded,  and  such  a  fine  nature  as 
their  girl's  was  not  to  be  spoiled  in  an  hour  or  a 
year  by  flattery.  And  Molly's  last  thoughts 
that  night  were  of  pity  for  poor  Lottie  Beau- 
moris.  The  afternoon  of  sitting  out  the  concert, 
listening  to  the  chatter  of  Lottie's  friends,  had 
thrown  broad  light  upon  a  career  the  newspapers 
had  made  to  seem  so  dazzling.  Lottie,  weighed 
down  with  petty  cares,  a  target  for  petty  malice, 
was  in  her  fine  home  not  so  well  off  as  Molly  in 
her  little  threadbare  house,  full  to  the  eaves 
with  ardent  workers,  living  for  each  other  and 


271 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

for   the    best   that   was    in    them.      Kathleen's 
de"but  had  taught  her  mother  this! 

Carefully  assuming  his  recently  acquired  even- 
ing clothes,  and  taking  heed,  we  may  be  sure,  of 
the  hints  dropped  by  Kathleen  on  the  occasion 
of  his  former  appearance  in  this  conventional 
attire,  Mr.  Colin  Mackintosh  stood  prepared  for 
what  to  him  was  to  be  a  great  occasion. 

Before  setting  out  to  the  Blairs'  house  he  went 
to  his  neighbor's  door  and  knocked.  He  knew 
that  he  should  find  Mr.  Thorndyke  sitting  doubled 
up  over  his  newspaper,  under  the  gas-jet;  but 
to-night  the  old  man's  face  looked  more  pinched 
and  wan  than  usual,  his  breath  came  shorter, 
the  newspaper  lay  unread  across  his  knees. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  ill,"  said  Colin,  kindly. 

Hardly  a  day  had  passed  since  their  first  talk 
that  he  had  not  extended  to  the  friendless  old 
fellow  some  word  or  look  of  sympathy;  and 
Thorndyke,  although  Colin  did  not  know  it,  had 
conceived  for  him  in  turn  an  almost  paternal 
tenderness.  In  the  utter  loneliness  of  his  life 
the  instrument-maker  yearned  for  something  to 
link  him  with  the  world  of  everyday  affection. 
Colin's  active  step  upon  the  stairs  had  come  to 
be  music  to  his  ear — Colin's  greeting  a  solace 
eagerly  awaited. 

272 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

"Not  ill,  my  dear  boy;  only  a  little  down  to- 
night. I  begin  to  feel  the  climb  up  these  long 
flights.  And  so  you  are  going  off  into  some  gay 
scene,  where  people  will  be  chatting  and  laugh- 
ing? I  don't  envy  you,  for  it's  getting  on  to  ten 
o'clock,  and  after  that  hour  I  can  hardly  keep 
awake  in  these  days.  There's  a  long  paragraph — 
nearly  half  a  column — in  the  paper  about  an 
affair  that  is  to  occur  in  my  nephew's  rooms  to- 
night. I  think  I  could  tell  you  everybody  that's 
expected  there.  There's  a  young  violinist — a 
Miss  Blair — who  has  made  a  hit  recently — and 
some  famous  professionals.  Mr.  Mackintosh,  I 
ought  to  tell  you,  too,  that  since  I  let  out  that 
secret  that's  corroding  me  I  have  felt  much 
ashamed.  There  was  only  this  excuse  for  it — a 
very  little  drink  affects  me,  and  I  had  already 
had  a  glass  of  beer  on  my  way  home.  The  claret 
finished  me.  It  did  not  confuse  my  brain,  but 
just  loosed  my  tongue.  What  I  told  you  was 
true,  but  it  should  have  gone  with  me  to  my 
grave." 

"You  need  never  fear  my  making  use  of  it 
unfairly,"  said  Colin,  pityingly.  The  meek  sub- 
mission of  the  man  was  sadder  than  his  outburst 
of  wrath  had  been. 

"I  know  I  can  trust  you.  I  wish  it  were  in  my 
power  to  do  something  for  you,  Mr.  Mackintosh. 

273 


THE  STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

If  I  die  soon,  you  will  have  given  me  the  last 
gleams  of  pleasure  in  a  disappointed  life.  I  wish 
I  could  help  you  in  return." 

"You  can  to-night,"  said  Colin;  "if  you  do 
not  mind  lending  me,  for  a  purpose  of  my  own, 
the  fine  scarabeus  you  showed  me.  It  shall  be 
returned  to  you  without  fail  to-morrow." 

"Willingly,  dear  boy,  willingly,"  said  the  old 
man,  fumbling  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  bring- 
ing out  the  sacred  beetle  wrapped  in  a  bit  of 
tissue  paper.  "When  I  die  I  should  like  you  to 
have  this  to  keep,  and  any  other  little  thing  I 
have.  There  are  a  few  good  books,  and — " 

"My  dear  friend,  you  depress  me,"  said  Colin, 
taking  the  scarabeus,  and  shaking  hands  with  the 
lender. 

"Do  I?  It  never  occurs  to  me  to  think  of  my 
death  as  sad,"  said  Thorndyke,  simply. 

"Suppose,"  said  Colin,  abruptly,  "you  had  to 
wish  for  the  thing  that  would  please  you  most — 
what  would  it  be?" 

"A  sight  of  my  Stradivarius!"  exclaimed  the 
instrument-maker,  his  dull  e>e  kindling  with  fond 
hope.  "Mr.  Mackintosh,  something  in  your 
face — it  can't  be  you  have  heard — no,  I'm  a 
madman  to  dream  of  it — but  it  almost  looked  for 
a  minute  as  if  you  have  good  news." 

"I  may  be  wrong,  and  I  may  be  disappointed," 
274 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

said  Mackintosh,  with  an  air  of  quiet  conviction, 
nevertheless.  "But  I  have  an  idea  I'm  on  the 
track  of  your  lost  treasure.  If  I  succeed  in 
tracing  it,  I  shall  be  more  than  glad.  If  I  fail, 
you  will  be  no  worse  off  than  before.  Good 
night.  Sleep  well,  and  awake  in  better  heart  for 
the  morrow.  But  before  I  go, — upon  second 
thoughts, — I  wish  you  would  give  me  a  written 
order  for  your  Stradivarius. " 

After  Colin  left  his  room  old  Thorndyke  aban- 
doned himself  to  almost  childish  glee.  Next,  for 
a  while,  he  paced  the  floor,  then,  sinking  fatigued 
into  his  chair,  meditated  long. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  when  he  started  up  again, 
and  taking  the  pencil  with  which  he  had  scrawled 
and  signed  the  order  Colin  desired,  wrote  some 
lines  upon  a  paper  torn  from  a  memorandum 
book.  Putting  these  upon  the  table,  old  Rupert 
Thorndyke  went  peacefully  to  bed. 

At  the  same  moment  Rupert  Thorndyke  the 
younger  was  presiding  over  the  entertainment  at 
his  rooms,  for  which  fine  ladies  had  been  for  some 
time  struggling  to  get  cards  of  invitation.  The 
host's  vogue,  grace,  and  tact  had  been  at  no  time 
more  conspicuous.  The  affair,  pronounced  the 
best  of  its  kind,  was  about  to  pass  into  the  chronicle 
of  jaded  pleasure-seekers  as  an  eminent  success. 
The  turn  of  Kathleen,  who  had  played  once 
275 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

upon  her  own  violin,  had  now  come  around  again 
upon  the  programme.  Mr.  Malvolio— who,  after 
all,  was  there — had  just  sauntered  up  to  whisper 
in  her  ear: 

"They  say  he  is  going  to  let  you  try  his  Stradi- 
varius.  The  rest  of  the  women  are  green  with 
jealousy  at  this  mark  of  favor.  No  one  has 
touched  it  heretofore." 

"If  Mrs.  Blair  will  allow  her  daughter  to  come 
with  me  into  the  little  room  where  I  keep  my 
treasure — "  Thorndyke  was  saying  to  her 
mother,  who,  with  Colin  behind  her,  stood  guard 
over  her  young  violinist. 

"Certainly.  Go  with  her,  Colin,  please,  and 
see  that  her  head  is  not  quite  turned  by  these 
honors,"  said  the  unconscious  Molly. 

Colin  needed  no  further  impetus.  In  spite  of 
a  cloud  passing  over  the  face  of  their  handsome 
host,  the  stalwart  fellow  placed  himself  at  Kath- 
leen's side  and  accompanied  them. 

A  room  of  small  dimensions,  but  with  solid 
doors,  bolted  as  well  as  locked.  On  the  walls, 
in  glass  cases  with  a  background  of  crimson 
velvet,  a  small  but  exquisite  assemblage  of  what 
might  be  called  the  bric-a-brac  of  musical  instru- 
ments. Violins  were  there,  but  Colin's  eye 
sought  in  vain  for  one  bearing  the  mark  of  a  tiny 
hand  with  an  outstretched  finger. 
276 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

"What  a  delightful  nook!"  cried  Kathleen. 
"How  I  wish  there  were  time  to  look  over  its 
wonders  leisurely." 

"Some  day — any  day  that  you  so  ordain,"  said 
the  virtuoso.  "I  and  mine  are  at  your  command 
always." 

Colin,  seeing  Thorndyke's  face  transfigured 
with  delight  in  the  girl's  youth  and  beauty, 
raged  inwardly.  He,  recalled  the  value  he  had 
heard  him  put  upon  all  women,  Kathleen  in  par- 
ticular. Strong  as  a  lion  to  defend  her,  it  was 
hard  for  the  young  fellow  to  now  contain  him- 
self until  he  had  wrought  out  his  plan  to  avenge 
the  sins  of  this  Rupert  Thorndyke  against  the 
one  he  had  left  in  a  shabby  tenement. 

He  had  no  idea  how  he  meant  to  bring  about 
the  conviction  of  this  man's  wrong-doing,  or  to 
seek  for  the  restoration  of  the  other's  stolen 
property.  But  whatever  he  did,  Colin  meant 
that  it  should  be  short,  sharp,  and  decisive! 

At  last  chance  favored  him.  His  heart  beat 
hard  as  he  followed  Kathleen  and  Thorndyke 
from  object  to  object  of  the  priceless  array. 

"I  fear  we  should  not  keep  all  those  people 
waiting  for  us  longer — "  said  the  host  finally. 

"And  I  am  palpitating  with  impatience  to  see 
your  chief  treasure,"  cried  Kathleen. 

"I  have  made  a  little  shrine  for  it,"  went  on 
277 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

Thorndyke,  stooping  to  unlock  a  cupboard  in  the 
wall.  A  second  inner  door  of  polished  mahog- 
any yielded  to  a  key  carried  on  the  owner's 
person.  Within  an  air-tight  receptacle  lay  a 
violin-case,  covered  with  rare  leather  fantasti- 
cally wrought  in  gold. 

"Take  and  open  it,"  said  Thorndyke,  convey- 
ing this  to  a  nest  in  Kathleen's  soft  bare  arms. 
"You  are  the  first  woman  that  I  have  entrusted 
with  my  beauty." 

"My  beauty!"  Old  Thorndyke's  very  phrase! 
Colin,  the  blood  rushing  to  his  brain  with  excite- 
ment and  indignation,  looked  on  eagerly  as  the 
instrument  was  taken  from  its  case.  There,  in 
the  exact  spot  indicated  by  its  rightful  owner, 
was  a  tiny  shadow  in  the  wood  resembling  a  hand 
with  an  outstretched  finger! 

"The  desire  of  my  life  is  accomplished,"  said 
Kathleen,  lifting  the  violin  to  her  shoulder  and 
letting  the  bow  glide  over  the  strings. 

The  sound  that  answered  was  like  the  wail  of 
a  reproach. 

"It  has  been  waiting  all  this  time  for  you!" 
said  Thorndyke,  with  tender  emphasis,  regard- 
less of  their  hearer.  He,  like  Kathleen,  se«med 
to  be  under  a  sort  of  spell. 

"Since  when,  may  I  ask?"  interrupted  Colin, 
quietly. 

278 


THE   STOLEN  STRADIVARIUS 

Thorndyke  turned  and  looked  at  him  in  cold 
distaste. 

"Since  the  creation  of  the  instrument,  no 
doubt.  Certainly  since  it  came  to  me  by  inher- 
itance." 

"By  inheritance?"  said  the  younger  man,  with 
deliberate  doubt  in  his  intonation.  "I  think, 
Mr.  Thorndyke,  that  your  uncle,  who  bears  the 
same  name  as  yourself,  would  give  a  different 
version  of  the  way  you  acquired  this  costly  pos- 
session." 

Thorndyke  started  violently. 

"Do  you  mean  to  insult  me?"  he  said  in  almost 
a  whisper,  guilt  written  in  his  face. 

Kathleen,  spell-bound  by  Colin's  stern  looks, 
held  the  violin  breathlessly. 

"I  mean,  Mr.  Thorndyke,  to  make  absolutely 
no  fuss  in  this  very  unpleasant  matter.  But  I 
mean  also  to  make  it  perfectly  plain  to  you  that 
I  know  all  about  this  Stradivarius  with  the  mark 
of  a  hand  pointing.  I  am  informed  when  and 
how  it  was  taken  out  of  your  uncle  Thorndyke's 
trunk  in  his  boarding-house.  And  if  you  will  give 
it  up  to  him  quietly,  I  shall  not  say  another  word 
to  any  one  concerning  it." 

"An  ingenious  method  to  possess  yourself  of 
a  valuable  piece  of  property,"  sneered  Thorn- 
dyke,  now  livid  with  fear  and  rage. 
279 


THE   STOLEN  STRADIVARIUS 

"I  have  this  to  offer  in  exchange,"  said  Colin, 
controlling  himself  perfectly,  as  he  took  out  the 
scarabeus  and  held  it,  together  with  the  old 
man's  written  order  for  the  violin,  for  the  inspec- 
tion of  the  thief. 

"My  dear  Colin,"  exclaimed  Kathleen,  greatly 
distressed  and  mortified  at  the  scene.  "You 
must  take  me  back  to  my  mother.  I  insist — " 

"Just  as  soon  as  Mr.  Thorndyke  gives  a  defi- 
nite answer  to  my  proposition,"  said  Colin,  fear- 
lessly. 

Thorndyke  breathed  hard.  His  eyes  flashed 
with  a  vengeful  luster.  He  tried  to  speak,  and 
could  not.  Then,  looking  furtively  about  the 
room,  and  seeming  to  grow  smaller  in  the  action, 
he  took  the  Stradivarius  from  Kathleen,  put  it 
in  an  old  and  shabby  case,  and  replacing  the 
empty  ornamental  cover  in  the  secret  chamber, 
shut  and  locked  this  receptacle  with  elaboration. 
With  a  supreme  effort,  he  recovered  his  usual 
manner. 

"You  will  give  this  to  my  uncle,  with  my  com- 
pliments," he  said  lightly,  putting  the  precious 
violin  in  Colin's  .hands  and  reclaiming  the  scar- 
abeus. "And  you  might  say  from  me,  that 
although  I  know  the  old  boy  is  as  mad  as  a 
March  hare,  I  don't  like  to  thwart  his  dear  old 
fancy.  I  was  about  indeed,  to  inform  him, 
280 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

through  my  lawyer,  that  a  sum  of  money  coming 
out  of  an  old  investment  of  his  and  my  father's, 
has  been  divided,  and  his  share  placed  to  his 

credit  in  the  bank.  A  thousand  a  year 

only,  but  enough  to  keep  him  in  comfort  in  the 
lunatic  asylum,  where  I  feel  sure  he  will  bring 
up." 

Kathleen,  although  he  had  avoided  and  ig- 
nored her  in  the  matter,  had  not  waited  for  this 
ending.  With  crimson  cheeks  and  in  great  agi- 
tation, she  had  slipped  out  to  rejoin  her  mother. 
A  few  moments  later  heard  their  host,  standing 
before  his  guests,  offer  'a  graceful  explanation 
that  the  condition  of  his  Stradivarius  would  pre- 
vent Miss  Blair  from  to-night  awakening  its 
hidden  melodies. 

Colin,  clasping  the  recovered  treasure  like 
the  anchor  of  hope,  was  in  the  lobby  awaiting  the 
ladies  when  they  presently  hurried  out.  On 
the  drive  home  he  told  them  in  simple  but  elo- 
quent language  the  full  history  of  his  old  neigh- 
bor and  the  stolen  violin. 

When  he  had  finished,  Molly  was  crying  quietly. 
Kathleen's  eyes  flashed  upon  him  such  approval 
as  he  had  never  seen  in  them  before. 

4'I  could  love  you  for  what  you've  done  for 
that  poor  old  man,  Colin,"  she  cried,  with  Irish 
impulse,  and  stopped,  blushing.  "But  1  don't 
281 


THE   STOLEN   STRADIVARIUS 

understand  why  Thorndyke  made  such  a  poor 
fight." 

"It  was  'coward  conscience,'  "  said  Colin. 
"For  if  I  read  him  right,  he  would  cut  off  his 
right  hand  to  avoid  exposure  or  fiasco  before 
such  people  as  were  there  to-night." 

"I  could  love  you,"  rang  joyously  in  Colin's 
ears  as  he  ran  up  his  own  steps,  carrying  the 
violin.  When  he  reached  Thorndyke's  room, 
late  as  it  was,  he  could  not  resist  trying  to  get 
speech  with  his  friend.  His  light  tap  bringing 
no  answer,  he  opened  the  door  and  went  in. 
The  light  over  the  transom  showed  him  the  old 
man  lying  in  his  bed.  Leaving  the  Stradivarius 
upon  the  table,  Colin  stole  away. 

The  next  day  the  people  of  the  house  found 
the  old  instrument-maker  sitting  in  his  chair,  a 
happy  smile  upon  his  face,  the  violin  clasped  in 
his  arms.  He  had  been  dead  some  hours,  and 
on  his  table  lay  a  penciled  will,  bequeathing  all 
that  he  died  possessed  of,  "without  reserve," 
to  his  "beloved  young  friend,  John  Walter 
Mackintosh." 

Thus,  in  due  time,  and  to  the  enormous  sur- 
prise  of  everybody  concerned,    Kathleen  came 
into  possession,  not  only  of  her  coveted  Stradi- 
282 


THE   STOLEN    STRADIVARIUS 

varius,  but  of  a  husband,  with  an  income  small 
but  growing  and  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  with- 
draw his  wife  from  public  appearance  as  a  paid 
performer.  Upon  the  authority  of  Mr.  Rupert 
Thorndyke,  who  lives  and  flourishes  like  the 
green  bay-tree,  this  is  said  to  be  a  serious  loss 
to  the  world  of  music,  but  Kathleen  does  not 
mind. 

Malvolio  still  thinks  the  fall  of  Rupert  Thorn- 
dyke  is  to  come! 


'83 


WANTED:    A  CHAPERON 


WANTED:    A  CHAPERON 


Gwendolyn  West  sat  alone  in  profound  medita- 
tion upon  her  future.  She  was  the  childless 
young  widow  of  a  naval  officer,  whom  she  had 
lost  after  six  months  of  married  life  and  two 
years  of  separation  during  his  absence  on  official 
duty  in  foreign  waters. 

For  three  years  she  had  mourned  her  lieuten- 
ant dutifully.  No  crepe  had  ever  exceeded 
Gwendolyn's  in  depth  and  plenitude.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  her  free-spoken  friend,  Kate 
Payne — who  had  politely  encouraged  her  illusion 
that  the  marriage  was  not  a  mistake— had  told 
her  she  was  tired  of  seeing  her  look  like  the 
German  nursery  picture  of  Slovenly  Peter  after 
he  was  fished  out  of  the  forbidden  inkstand. 
Gwendolyn  had  laughed — and  the  deed  was  done. 
She  had  now  emerged  into  alleviated  grays  and 
hopeful  lilacs.  Mrs.  Payne,  nodding  approval, 
said  she  had  never  seen  such  a  creature  for  mak- 
ing her  clothes  look  stylish ;  and  Gwendolyn,  in 
287 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

return,  owned  that  the  materials  cost  nothing 
and  were  made  up  by  a  little  woman  "by  the 
day." 

"All  the  same,  you  look  solvent,  prosperous, 
up-to-date.  What  can  woman  ask  more?"  said 
Kate. 

"Ask?  My  dear  Kate,  you  have  no  idea  how 
hard  put  to  it  I  am  to  make  ends  meet.  I  am  so 
poor  it  is  a  scandal.  If  my  Aunt  Althea  had 
not  invested  her  money  in  this  flat,  when  the 
house  was  going  up,  and  left  it  to  me  in  her  will, 
I  should  be  living  in  one  room  of  a  boarding- 
house,  with  a  folding-bed.  As  it  is,  I  ought  to 
let  the  flat  and  eke  out  my  ridiculous  little 
income  with  the  proceeds.  If  I  were  abroad  I 
might  live  on  it  almost  in  comfort." 

"Nobody  understands  living  abroad  better 
than  you  do." 

"Of  course,,  since  from  nineteen  to  twenty- 
four  I  knocked  about  there  with  Aunt  Althea. 
But  my  difficulty,  absurd  though  it  may  seem 
for  a  woman  of  almost  thirty,  is  that  I  look 
hardly  old  enough  to  live  as  a  solitary  female  in 
the  places  I  know  best  on  the  other  side.  In 
New  York  I  am  panoplied  with  respectability." 

"And  boredom,"  supplemented  the  frank 
Mrs.  Payne.  "It  is  no  fun  to  live  here  on  the 
outside  of  things,  where  one  has  been  used  to 
288 


"MY  DEAR  KATE,  YOU  HAVE  NO  IDEA  HOW  HARD  PUT 
TO  IT  I  AM  TO  MAKE  ENDS  MEET.  I  AM  SO  POOR  IT  IS  A 
SCANDAL." 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

the  inside.  The  truth  is,  you  ought  to  have  had 
a  girl — not  a  boy,  who  would  have  been  a  hand- 
ful, and  most  probably  a  pickle — but  a  nice 
little  golden-haired  angel,  with  short  skirts  and 
long,  black-stockinged  legs,  whom  you  would 
have  made  a  vision  of  picturesqueness  in 
dress." 

"Let  us  talk  of  what  I  have,"  said  Mrs.  West, 
with  a  sigh. 

"It  has  just  occurred  to  me  that  you  would 
make  a  capital  chaperon  for  some  breezy  young 
woman  of  large  means,  scant  culture,  and  con- 
suming ambition  to  see  the  world.  You  have 
position,  manners,  morals  beyond  question,  and 
would  be  a  perfect  teacher  of  how  to  dot  one's 
i's  in  good  society." 

"What  servitude!"  exclaimed  her  friend, 
shuddering.  "I  detest  breezy  people  who  are 
uncertain  of  themselves.  And  there  is  nothing 
so  delusive  as  temper.  She  might  make  my  life 
a  burden.  How  mortifying,  too,  to  have  to 
conduct  her  along  the  primrose  paths  of  society 
in  my  own  town!  I  should  live  over  a  volcano, 
never  knowing  when  she  would  break  forth." 

"Take  her  traveling,"  went  on  Madame. 

"That  is  better,"  said  Gwendolyn.     "But  sup- 
pose she  fell  ill,  or  flirted,  or  defied  me,  away  off 
there.     She  would  be  sure  to  do  all  three." 
289 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

"I  should  do  nothing  without  being  well  paid 
for  it.  With  a  full  purse  you  can  accomplish 
wonders." 

"It  would  be  such  a  relief  to  spend  six  months 
or  a  year  free  from  looking  over  that  hateful 
butcher's  book.  Although  I  know  that  I  and  my 
two  maids  eat  nothing,  our  bills  are  awful,  and 
I  can't  pretend  to  read  butchers'  handwriting, 
can  you?  '3  cucks,  0.90';  that's  what  I  labored 
over  for  a  whole  morning,  after  I  had  ordered  a 
miserable  little  cucumber  to  be  cut  up  with  my 
fish." 

"I  am  afraid  the  queen  of  your  kitchen  is  a 
wiser  potentate  than  you  credit  her  with  being. 
But,  my  dear,  I  have  an  inspiration.  Yesterday 
I  got  a  circular  from  a  new  'Bureau  of  Informa- 
tion Concerning  Women's  Needs.'  It  is 
intended  to  bring  together  refined  and  cultivated 
employers  and  employe's,  and  to  make  a  specialty 
of  companions,  chaperons,  and  governesses.  Sup- 
pose I  inquire — I  know  the  woman  at  the  head ; 
she  will  take  pains  to  oblige  me — and  see  if  she 
has  any  applications  from  young  persons  who 
have  left  school  and  desire  to  be  'finished'  in  the 
broadest  sense — " 

"Kate,  Kate,  you  frighten  me.     You  are  such 
a  steam  engine  in  accomplishing  what  you  set 
out  to  do  I  should  be  afraid  to  go  out  to  walk 
290 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

this  afternoon  lest  I  should  come  in  to  find  my 
treasure  installed  here  in  permanence." 

"You  need  not  take  her  unless  everything 
suits.  I  really  believe  such  a  girl  would  rouse 
you  up,  give  you  a  new  motive  in  life,  and  end 
by  being  a  blessing  in  disguise — " 

"Very  much  disguised,"  remarked  Gwendolyn, 
ruefully. 

"It  is  now  late  February.  You  could  sail  in 
March  by  the  Southern  route  to  Genoa,  and 
spend  the  spring  in  Italy." 

Gwendolyn  flushed  and  sat  bolt  upright.  Her 
soul  was  pierced  by  the  chant  of  nightingales  in 
the  Cascine  woods;  of  the  singers  upon  the  star 
gondola  by  moonlight  on  the  Grand  Canal;  of 
the  Amalfi  boatmen  resting  upon  their  oars! 
How  well  she  would  know  where  to  go,  and  how 
to  enjoy  the  best  of  everything.  She  had  been 
starving  for  beauty  for  four  years! 

"Let  me — let  me  have  time  to  think,"  she  said 
finally,  with  a  sort  of  gasp. 

"You  poor  victim,  you  have  a  most  pathetic 
air,"  answered  Mrs.  Payne,  getting  up  to  go, 
and  kissing  her.  "Of  course,  you  must  think 
over  it.  Let  me  know  to-night;  and  to-morrow 
morning,  bright  and  early,  I  will  order  the 
brougham  and  set  forth  upon  my  quest." 

A  paid  conductor  and  chaperon!  Out  of  the 
291 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

mists  of  recollection  loomed  up  before  Gwendolyn 
a  time,  when  sitting  with  her  aunt  and  her  hus- 
band in  the  dining-room  of  a  great  hotel  in 
Amsterdam,  she  had  seen  the  entry  of  a  hot,  red- 
faced  lady,  preceding  a  string  of  girls  of  assorted 
sizes,  and  marshaling  them  at  table.  Their 
party  was  completed  by  one  lean,  henpecked 
little  boy,  presumably  the  conductor's  son, 
obtaining  free  of  expense  educational  glimpses 
into  the  vistas  of  old-world  life. 

From  that  day  on  Gwendolyn  had  continued 
to  meet  them  during  their  stay — fortunately 
brief — in  the  great  Dutch  town.  One  of  the  girls 
had  taken  a  fancy  to  Mrs.  West,  and  whenever 
they  came  together  in  galleries  and  the  like 
annexed  herself  to  Gwendolyn,  asking  flat  ques- 
tions upon  art,  and  detailing  her  grievances 
against  the  head  of  their  party.  Mrs.  Batt  was 
selfish;  she  had  not  fulfilled  her  promises  to 
them;  she  hurried  them  through  things  they 
wanted  to  see;  and  lingered  in  places  where  the 
fare  was  good  and  cheap,  in  order  to  feed  up  her 
little  boy. 

And  Mrs.  Batt,  in  turn,  running  upon  Gwen- 
dolyn in  a  corridor  upstairs  at  their  hotel,  told 
her  it  was  a  dog's  life  she  was  leading,  pulled 
around  by  these  capricious  girls,  who  didn't 
know  what  they  wanted,  and  were  forever  having 
292 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

headaches  and  tiffs  with  each  other,  and  taking 
offense  about  nothing,  or  else  entering  into  con- 
versations with  strange  men  and  thinking  it 
clever.  But  for  the  advantage  to  her  dear, 
fatherless  child  Mrs.  Batt  could  wish  herself 
back  again  in  peace  at  New  Corinth,  Kansas, 
whence  they  had  all  set  forth  in  May. 

Recalling  all  this,  Gwendolyn  drew  a  long 
breath  of  dismay.  Then  the  maid  came  in  with 
a  sheaf  of  household  bills  and  the  announcement 
that  she  and  the  cook  had  determined  to  leave 
when  the  month  should  be  up.  An  organ-grinder 
in  the  street  outside  began  to  play: 

"O!  bella  Napoli! 
O!  dolce  Napoli! " 

The  sunshine  that  streamed  through  the 
panes  of  her  south  windows  was  full  of  sugges- 
tions of  purple  seas,  overarched  by  an  azure 
dome,  beneath  which  roses  bloomed  along  the 
shore,  and  jasmine  and  orange  flowers  distilled 
their  richest  perfume.  Oh!  to  be  in  the  South — 
far  from  the  sound  of  trolley  cars  and  all  the 
tokens  of  a  city's  overcrowded  life  that,  day  or 
night,  can  never  be  hushed! 

If  she  had  something  of  her  very  own — some 
hearthside  idol  to  go  and  come  in  her  little 
home,  she  would  be  more  than  content  to  stay 
there. 

293 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

Then  Gwendolyn  subjected  herself  to  a  secret 
crucial  test.  She  opened  a  case  of  photographs — 
a  receptacle  made  of  old  brocade,  broidered  with 
silver  thread,  that  she  had  picked  up  in  the 
Palais  Royal  in  1893 — and  extracted  one  of  its 
portraits.  This  was  an  up-to-date  affair,  exe- 
cuted by  a  New  York  photographer  of  note.  It 
represented  a  man  of  five-and-thirty,  good  look- 
ing, amiable,  and  weak. 

She  looked  at  it  long  and  studiously.  A  line 
dashed  off  at  her  writing-table,  a  call  for  a  mes- 
senger, a  few  hours'  delay,  and  he  would  be  with 
her.  The  very  next  day  she  might  announce  to 
all  interested  her  engagement  to  marry  Mr. 
Ernest  Blythe.  As  Mrs.  Blythe,  provided  she 
could  maintain  a  sufficient  interest  in  yachting 
and  its  devotees,  no  injunction  would  be  laid 
upon  her  habits  or  inclination.  Blythe  was  rich, 
easy-going  to  a  ridiculous  degree,  as  much  in 
love  with  her  as  his  capacity  would  admit,  and 
was  hers  to  take  or  leave. 

But — Gwendolyn  glanced  up  at  an  enlarged 
photograph  of  the  late  Lieutenant  West,  hang- 
ing in  an  ebony  frame  above  that  very  writing- 
table,  as  if  to  control  its  output  of  chirographical 
amenities. 

Her  survey  was  not  reassuring.  "Oh!  never, 
never  again!"  she  murmured  audibly.  It  is  only 
294 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

once  in  a  long  while  that  women  really  speak  to 
themselves  aloud,  and  that  is  when  they  want  a 
witness  to  some  vow  of  a  peculiarly  binding 
character. 

She  took  Mr.  Blythe  with  hastening  finger  tips 
and  drove  him  in  at  the  very  bottom  ot  the  pack. 
It  would  be  a  long  time  before  she  could  take 
him  out  again. 

Then  something  possessed  her  to  go  into  a 
dark  closet  and  hunt  around  upon  its  seldom- 
visited  shelves  to  find  a  very  old  album  of  photo- 
graphs, dating  back  before  her  travels  in  Europe 
with  her  nomadic  Aunt  Althea  had  weaned  her 
from  thoughts  of  home. 

She  was  eighteen  then,  and  was  making  a  visit 
to  the  wife  of  a  professor  in  a  university  town, 
where  most  of  these  treasures  of  pictorial  art  had 
been  accumulated.  What  faded  old  things  they 
were,  chiefly  of  undergraduates  wearing  queer 
collars  and  scarfs,  with  coats  that  did  not  fit  and 
hair  that  was  much  too  long!  She  had  some 
difficulty  in  finding  the  particular  cabinet  photo- 
graph she  sought,  but  it  appeared  at  last,  looking 
straight  at  her  with  the  fearless  gaze  of  hand- 
some eyes  that  had  once  held  over  hers  unwonted 
power. 

"Ten — more,  nearly  eleven — years  ago,"  she 
mused.  "He  wore  his  hair  like  the  sweep  of  a 
295 


WANTED:   A   CHAPERON 

mahogany  banister,  poor  dear;  but  that  was 
a  man." 

John  Rufus  Atwell  was  his  rather  uninteresting 
name.  He  was  a  young  widower  of  twenty-six 
when  he  came  back  to  take  a  post-graduate 

course  at from  his  home  in  a  Western  town, 

where  he  had  left  his  child  with  its  mother's 
people.  None  of  his  surroundings  or  anteced- 
ents had  appealed  in  the  least  to  the  aesthetic  and 
superfine  side  of  pretty  Miss  Gwendolyn.  But 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  her,  just  like  half  a 
dozen  more  of  the  youngsters.  She  had  tried  to 
treat  him  just  like  them — and  had  failed.  He 
had  given  her  a  first  lesson  in  virile  resistance  to 
the  exactions  of  coquettish  femininity. 

They  had  parted,  though  she  had  always 
remembered  him  with  something  of  tender 
regret.  But  still  the  thing  would  have  been 
impossible — quite  impossible !  What  had  become 
of  him  since  she  had  not  the  vaguest  idea. 

That  evening  a  little  note  went  to  Mrs.  Payne 
authorizing  her  to  find  out  for  her  friend  some 
one  who  wanted  an  unexceptionable  chaperon. 

Mrs.  Payne  had  good  reason  to  think  that 
industrious  intervention  in  a  friend's  affairs  is 
sometimes  approved  by  the  Fates.  The  princi- 
pal of  the  new  "Bureau  of  Information  Con- 


296 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

earning  Women's  Needs"  expanded  with  satis- 
faction on  hearing  of  her  errand. 

It  so  happened  that  one  of  the  earliest  applica- 
tions that  had  come  to  them  was  from  a  family 
in  a  Western  State  who  desired  to  send  their 
daughter  abroad  under  competent  care.  She  had 
looked  into  their  references — although  that  was 
scarcely  needful  when  it  was  understood  that  the 
father  was  the  distinguished  statesman,  Honor- 
able John  Mordaunt,  Senator  from ,  whose 

name  was  in  every  newspaper  one  took  up. 

Mrs.  Payne,  reserving  her  decision  as  to  this 
proof  of  infallible  respectability,  was  pleased  to 
be  interested  in  the  matter.  She  next  read  Mr. 
Mordaunt's  letter  to  the  principal,  and  put  it 
down  even  better  pleased. 

"That  is  nicely  expressed,"  she  said,  after 
scrutinizing  every  point.  "For  a  wonder,  it  is 
not  typed.  He  seems  to  be  very  much  in  earn- 
est. And  his  ideas  about — her — remuneration 
are  certainly  most  liberal.  Says  nothing  about 
the  mother — a  cipher,  probably.  Girl  too  young 
to  be  kept  in  Washington.  I  hope,"  she  contin- 
ued with  sudden  animation,  "she  is  sound  and 
strong,  and  has  had  everything." 

"Had  everything,  Mrs.  Payne?" 

"Measles  and  whooping-cough — and  her  first 
love  affair. ' ' 

297 


WANTED:   A   CHAPERON 

"I  believe  you  will  find  my  clients  unexcep- 
tionable," said  the  principal,  who  was  not  fond 
of  jesting  upon  serious  subjects. 

"But  they  really  must  send  her  photograph," 
Mrs.  Payne  exclaimed  as  she  rose,  eager  to  con- 
vey the  result  of  her  interview  to  Gwendolyn. 
"And  I  think  you  may  safely  write  to  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt  that  if  everything  goes  well  he  may  count 
upon  Mrs.  Spencer  West." 

"Mrs.  Spencer  West!"  cried  the  principal, 
who,  it  will  be  recalled,  was  a  reader  of  current 
prints.  "Why,  she  is  one  of  the  most  fashion- 
able ladies  in  New  York." 

"Was.  But  her  being  so  long  in  mourning  has 
shut  her  in,  and  it  is  desired  by  her  friends  to 
rouse  her  from — ahem — her  grief,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Payne  nimbly.  "We  think  she  should  have  an 
object.  You  see,  now,  Mrs.  Smith,  how  careful 
we  should  be  to  make  no  mistakes." 
.  "It  is  our  aim  to  intermediate  between  only 
the  most  refined  and  cultivated  principals,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Smith,  with  a  high-toned  sniff. 

"And  it  is  understood  that  the  matter  is  strictly 
confidential." 

"That,  Madame,  is  the  very  foundation-stone 
of  our  enterprise." 

"Good  morning,  then.     Perhaps,  not  to  lose 
time,  you  might  write  at  once  to  Mr.  Mordaunt. " 
298 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

Whatever  the  principal  of  the  B.  I.  W.  N. 
wrote,  it  brought  a  quick  response.  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt  was  much  gratified  by  her  efforts  in 
his  behalf,  begged  to  inclose  a  photograph  of  his 
daughter,  and  would  be  in  New  York  on  Sunday 
for  the  purpose  of  settling  preliminaries  with 
Mrs.  Spencer  West. 

"He  is  terribly  business-like,"  said  Gwen- 
dolyn, discontentedly.  "But,  dear  me!  the  girl 
is  pretty. ' ' 

"  'Pretty*  is  tame,"  said  Mrs.  Payne,  taking 
the  picture  from  her  friend.  "She  is  beautiful, 
in  a  rather  common  way.  Ugh !  That  frock  cut 
half  high,  the  hair  done  in  a  horn  behind  and 
stuck  through  with  a  dreadful  ornamental  pin ! 
You  should  go  to  Paris,  my  dear,  and  put  her  in 
Pacquin's  hands.  But  how  very  mature  she 
looks  for  seventeen.  She  is  like  one  of  our  girls 
in  her  third  season." 

"You  can  see  'local  belle'  written  all  over 
her.  And  those  chains  and  rings  and  pins!" 
said  fastidious  Gwendolyn.  "Oh!  I  could  never 
do  it  in  New  York.  And  now  to  brace  myself 
for  that  dreaded  meeting  with  the  fond  papa!" 

It  was  not  written  on  the  cards  that  the  meet- 
ing in  question  should  take  place.  Gwendolyn, 
through  nervousness  and  a  heavy  cold  combined, 
was  in  bed  with  a  neuralgic  headache  when  he 
399 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

came.  She  could  hear  from  where  she  lay  the 
clear,  resonant  tones,  the  masterful  tread  of 
the  Senator,  which  seemed  to  fill  up  the  spaces 
of  her  toy  abode.  She  actually  turned  with  her 
face  to  the  wall,  and  stopped  her  ears  with 
her  fingers  to  avoid  hearing  more  of  him.  Mrs. 
Payne  scolded  her  afterward  for  her  nonsense. 

"I  feel  better  satisfied,  now  I  have  seen  him," 
said  Kate.  "There  is  something  in  him — I  can't 
express  it — that  inspires  confidence.  He  tells 
me  the  girl  is  motherless,  and  has  been  much 
indulged  by  her  grandparents  and  relatives.  He 
has  been  so  busy  with  his  affairs  that  he  has  seen 
comparatively  little  of  her.  She  is  affectionate 
and  truthful,  easy  to  lead,  and  hard  to  drive. 
She  has  never  known  anything  but  East  Ephesus 
in  her  native  State.  She  will  come  to  you  direct, 
and  you  ought  to  sail  as  early  as  you  can. 

Gwendolyn  sat  up  in  bed.  Her  headache  was 
nearly  gone.  A  desperate  resolve  to  do  the 
thing  thoroughly,  if  at  all,  had  come  into  her 
brain. 


3°° 


PART  II 

A  few  days  later  Mrs.  West  stood  in  the  crowd 
on  the  platform  at  Jersey  City  awaiting  a  train 
from  the  West,  and  holding  in  her  hand  a  hand- 
kerchief of  azure  silk,  of  which  the  duplicate 
was  to  be  waved  by  her  arriving  charge.  Her 
heart  beat  with  an  excitement  it  had  not  known 
for  long. 

She  had  not  many  moments  of  uncertainty. 
Even  without  the  blue  banner  that  bore  down 
upon  her  in  the  hands  of  the  prettiest  creature 
in  the  throng,  she  would  have  recognized  the 
original  of  the  picture. 

Miss  Cecily  Mordaunt,  beaming  with  compla- 
cency, was  attended  by  a  man — gaunt,  middle- 
aged,  uncouth,  with  every  sign  of  adoration  of 
his  companion  written  upon  his  countenance. 

"You — you  have  got  your  maid?"  asked 
Gwendolyn,  peering  about  in  search  of  that 
natural  protector. 

"Maid?  Never  had  such  a  thing  in  my  life," 
laughed  Cecily.  "And  what  would  ha'  been  the 
use,  when  Mr.  Lenvale  would  insist  upon  escort- 
ing me  every  step  of  the  way.  We  stopped  in 
301 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

Chicago  two  hours,  and  took  a  hack  and  drove 
round  to  see  the  sights.  I  never  was  so  sur- 
prised to  see  any  one  as  Mr.  Lenvale.  He  stole 
a  march  on  the  others,  and  sat  in  the  smoking 
car,  and  came  in  to  join  me  when  East  Ephesus 
was  well  out  of  sight.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  I 
had  to  have  him,  to  carry  all  that  truck." 

"That  truck"  was  an  assortment  of  faded 
flowers,  bonbons,  boxes,  and  baskets  of  fruit — 
with  railway  reading  enough  to  stock  a  stall. 

"They  kept  bringing  it  until  the  train  moved 
off.  Papa  made  me  promise  none  of  them 
should  come  along,  but  I  couldn't  help  Mr.  Len- 
vale, could  I,  now?" 

"I  have  a  carriage  waiting  on  the  other  side 
of  the  ferry.  We  shall  ask  Mr.  Lenvale  to  put 
your  belongings  into  that,  and  then  we  shall  not 
trouble  him  further,"  said  Gwendolyn,  in  her 
soft,  articulate  voice.  Poor  Lenvale,  although 
she  smiled  kindly,  saw  that  his  doom  was  sealed. 

"He's  a  fright,  isn't  he?"  said  heartless  Cecily 
as  they  drove  away  uptown.  "I'm  really  tired 
to  death  of  him;  but  it  wouldn't  do  exactly  to  let 
him  know.  When  I  saw  you  holding  that  blue 
handkerchief  my  heart  was  in  my  mouth  with 
surprise.  You  look  about  as  old  as  I  am,  or  a 
very  little  older.  'Thank  goodness  she's  young 
and  pretty,  and  how  well  her  clothes  fit!'  I  said 
303 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

to  Mr.  Lenvale.  When  papa  told  me  about  you 
I  cried  for  twenty-four  hours  without  stopping, 
and  all  the  girls  came  round  to  sympathize.  I 
supposed  you  were  a  prim  old  party,  with  a 
whalebone  back.  Look  here,  now.  Would  you 
mind  my  kissing  you?" 

A  week  later  they  sailed  for  Genoa.  Gwen- 
dolyn had  engaged  to  attend  them  a  courier- 
maid,  certified  against  sea-sickness,  and  as 
possessing  phenomenal  accomplishments  in  the 
science  of  hotel  bills  and  tips. 

Senator  Mordaunt,  just  then  held  in  the  vise 
of  an  important  committee  of  inquiry  over  which 
he  presided,  had  agreed  to  run  over  on  a  night 
train,  breakfast  with  his  daughter,  see  her  off  on 
the  steamer,  then  hurry  back  to  Washington. 
But  at  breakfast  time  arrived,  instead  of  the 
Senator,  a  telegram,  at  sight  of  which  Cecily  first 
stamped  her  foot,  then  cried. 

"I  knew  it!  I  have  always  had  telegrams 
when  I  wanted  my  father  most,"  she  said  be- 
tween her  sobs.  "He  can't  get  off,  so  sends  me 
his  blessing,  and  his  compliments  to  you.  Who 
wants  to  be  blessed  by  telegraph?" 

She  was  such  a  big,  healthy,  buoyant,  fun- 
making  being  it  was  impossible  to  think  of  her 
as  one  who  could  suffer  seriously  or  long,  but 
Mrs.  West  saw  that  she  loved  her  father,  and 
3°3 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

that  during  a  day   or   two   of  the  voyage  she 
lamented  for  him  in  silence. 

It  was  rough  off  the  coast,  the  skies  dull,  the 
company  depressed.  Gwendolyn  lay  most  of 
this  time  in  her  berth,  committing  Cecily  to  the 
care  of  the  courier-maid,  and  feeling  too  reckless 
of  outer  things  even  to  read  the  letter  from 
Washington  marked  "private  and  confidential" 
that  had  come  aboard  by  special  delivery  as  the 
ship  was  about  to  leave  the  dock.  She  had  seen 
that  it  was  from  Mordaunt,  and  was  full  of 
injunctions  about  his  daughter.  It  would  keep. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  out,  the  skies 
had  cleared,  sunshine  fell  warm  and  bright 
across  the  decks,  there  was  a  faint,  sweet,  far- 
away promise  of  spring  in  the  light  and  steady 
breeze.  The  cabin  passengers,  to  a  man, 
woman,  and  child,  felt  its  reviving  influence. 
Creeping  up  on  deck,  Gwendolyn  nestled  into 
her  chair,  looked  lazily  across  the  rail,  and  be- 
thought her  of  her  letter. 

After  she  had  finished  it  she  sat  wondering. 
For  the  first  time  she  realized  the  magnitude 
of  her  task.  This  was  the  cry  of  a  strong  man's 
heart  for  the  right  guidance  and  protection  of 
his  only  child.  Too  late  had  come  to  him  con- 
sciousness of  the  fact  that  Cecily  had  been  left 
to  environments  that  had  done  her  mischief. 
304 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

She  had  been  on  the  verge  of  running  away  to 
marry  a  Mr.  Parker  Moffat,  a  crack  baseball 
player,  a  young  man  encouraged  by  her  silly, 
sentimental  aunt. 

The  one  worth  talking  about  among  her 
admirers — who  made  her  the  acknowledged  sov- 
ereign of  hearts  in  East  Ephesus — had  been 
flouted  by  her  so  successfully  that  it  was  hardly 
likely  Angus  McCrea  would  ever  present  himself 
to  Mrs.  West's  notice.  Should  he  do  so,  he  was 
the  sole  representative  of  her  'home  guard'  whom 
Mordaunt  would  be  willing  for  Cecily  to  receive 
Any  overture  from  Moffat  Mrs.  West  must  incon- 
tinently quash. 

And  he  is  my  "obliged  and  faithful  J.  Mor- 
daunt,"  quoth  Gwendolyn.  "Well,  I  feel  as  if 
I  had  brought  an  explosive  machine  on  board.  I 
am  afraid  my  charge  is  nothing  more  or  less  than 
an  incorrigible  flirt." 

The  rest  of  the  voyage  proved  this  indubitably. 
From  the  captain,  who  had  her  seated  at  table 
at  his  left  hand,  to  the  officers,  great  and  petty, 
the  deck  stewards,  the  sailors  with  swabs,  and 
the  little  cabin  boys,  every  male  thing  belonging 
to  the  good  ship  was  at  Miss  Mordaunt's  beck 
and  call. 

The  unmarried  men  among  the  passengers — 
including  a  missionary  going  out  to  Asia  Minor, 
305 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

a  German  Baron,  a  magnate  of  Wall  Street  nurs- 
ing a  weak  lung,  a  silk  merchant  from  lower 
Broadway,  two  artists,  and  a  popular  young 
author — surrounded  her  chair,  like  a  swarm  of 
bees.  The  married  men  did  the  same  whenever 
they  were  released  from  supervision  by  their 
wives;  but  it  was  a  remarkably  tranquil  voyage, 
and  the  women  were  ordinarily  all  on  deck. 

Gwendolyn's  sense  of  propriety  suffered  under 
such  fierce  publicity.  Miss  Mordaunt's  sayings 
and  doings  were  bandied  everywhere.  The  peo- 
ple aboard  who  were  previously  known  to  Mrs. 
West  set  afloat  the  story  that  her  comet  was  a 
cousin  or  niece  going  to  join  her  family.  Most 
of  these  good  folk  thought  it  would  be  a  happy 
day  for  Mrs.  West  when  she  could  surrender  her 
charge  and  fold  her  hands  in  repose. 

Vigilance — perpetual  vigilance — was  evidently 
to  be  the  price  of  Gwendolyn's  peace.  The 
overwhelming  spirits,  the  reckless  sayings,  the 
audacious  doings  of  Cecily  began  at  breakfast 
time  and  ended  not  till  Gwendolyn  forced  her  to 
go  below  at  bedtime.  And  the  distressing  part 
of  it  was  that  the  chaperon  found  herself,  too, 
laughing  at  the  girl's  nonsense — giggling  help- 
lessly, irrepressibly.  Cecily  affected  her  like 
champagne  or  St.  Moritz  air. 

At  Gibraltar  Miss  Mordaunt  said  she  was 
306 


WANTED:   A   CHAPERON 

going  to  cable  to  her  papa.  When  they  were  off 
again  in  the  Mediterranean  she  threw  her  arms 
around  Gwendolyn's  neck  and  admitted  that  she 
had  cabled  to  some  one  else  besides  papa.  No 
coaxings  could  induce  her  to  say  more  than  this, 
and  Gwendolyn  felt  uncomfortable.  At  Genoa 
the  girl  received  two  cable  messages,  sent  in 
care  of  the  captain  of  the  ship,  who  delivered 
them  to  her  with  massive  gallantry. 

From  that  moment  it  seemed  that  Cecily's 
spirit  of  mischief  had  broken  loose  worse  than 
before.  Mrs.  West  and  the  courier-maid,  both 
of  them  secretly  devoted  to  her,  were  kept  for- 
ever on  the  alert  to  watch  her  vagaries.  Upon 
the  tourist  track  of  Europe  she  left  behind  her  a 
corruscating  trail  of  anecdotes. 

As  the  summer  progressed  Gwendolyn  resigned 
herself  to  being  a  marked  woman,  as  the  guard- 
ian of  the  most  original  young  person  who  had 
appeared  in  the  best-known  haunts  in  a  genera- 
tion. It  was  marvelous  to  see  how  Cecily's 
slang,  loud  speaking  and  dressing,  and  petty 
offenses  against  good  breeding  had  dropped 
away  from  her.  The  outer  shell  of  her  became 
conventional,  but  that  was  all. 

*  *  * 

When  the  handsome  and  well-born  Marquis  de 
San  Miniato  followed  them  to  Luzerne,  and  asked 
3°7 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

Mrs.  West  for  the  hand  of  her  charming  charge 
in  marriage,  Gwendolyn  felt  herself  pulled  up  as 
with  too  hard  a  curb. 

"Of  course  you  will  not  consider  him,"  she 
said,  much  more  confused  than  was  the  heroine 
of  the  hour. 

"I  was  thinking  a  little  of  getting  married  in 
Italy  in  the  fall,"  answered  Miss  Mordaunt,  pen- 
sively. "A  wedding  would  be  so  sweet  in  that 
lovely  old  Duomo  at  Florence.  And  I  couldn't 
have  it  in  the  Duomo  unless  I  married  a  Catholic, 
I  suppose." 

"Cecily!" 

"Gwen,  dear,  you  can't  do  it.  You  haven't 
the  cut  of  a  chaperon's  jib.  Why,  San  Miniato 
took  us  first  for  a  pair  of  schoolgirls,  and  Mimms 
for  our  governess.  You're  a  failure,  and  I'm  a 
terror;  but  we  have  had  a  good  time,  haven't 
we?" 

"Cecily,  your  father — I  have  an  idea  he  would 
dislike  this  more  than  anything  you  could  do. 
Don't,  don't  answer  Miniato  now.  Let  me  tell 
him  to  go  to  America  and  see  your  papa.  That 
is  the  only  decent  thing  to  do." 

"The  others — all  but  one — asked  me  first," 

said  Cecily,   dimpling.     "But   it's  a   shame   to 

tease  you,  poor,  dear  little  soul.     Send  Miniato 

packing,  if  you  like.     I  don't  generally — right 

308 


WANTED:   A    CHAPERON 

away.  I  keep  them  on  as  friends,  like  poor  Mr. 
Lenvale,  till  I  can't  stand  them  a  minute  longer. 
Anyhow,  old  Miniato's  a  goose  to  think  I'd 
marry  out  of  my  own  country  and  live  away  from 
papa." 

Gwendolyn  had  the  tact  to  say  nothing.  In  a 
moment  Cecily  began  again. 

"You've  been  so  awfully  good  to  me,  Gwenny. 
If  I  had  had  a  mother,  I'd  have  wanted  her  to  be 
like  you.  But  my  mother  died  when  I  was  born, 
and  I  had  no  one  but  an  aunt  and  grandmother, 
who — papa,  couldn't  get  along  with  them,  and  I 
don't  blame  him.  He  has  been  awfully  gener- 
ous— but  kept  away.  You  know  he  has  made 
money  himself,  but  he  inherited  a  lot  from  his 
mother's  brother  on  condition  he'd  change  his 
name.  The  Mordaunts  were  an  older  family 
than  the  Atwells,  and  my  uncle  didn't  want 
them  to  die  out — " 

"Atwell!  It  can't  be  possible!"  cried  Gwen- 
dolyn, "John  Rufus  Atwell?" 

"Yes,  that  was  his  full  name.  Did  you  ever 
know  him?" 

"Once,  long  ago,"  said  Gwendolyn,  in  a  maze 
of  astonishment. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  a  secret — if  you  won't  ask 
me  a  single  question  in  return,"  went  on  the 
girl,  filled  with  her  own  affairs.  "Although  not 
309 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

to  San  Miniato,  I  am  really  going  to  be  married. 
I've  left  my  heart,  my  real  heart,  at  home,  with 
the  best  fellow  in  the  world.  When  I  got  to 
Gibraltar  I  kept  a  promise  I'd  made  to  him,  and 
cabled  out  that  he  might  come  to  us  in  Septem- 
ber. By  the  time  we  get  to  Paris  he'll  be  there, 
and  then,  Gwenny,  then — oh!  You'll  be  a  jolly, 
easy-going  chaperon,  and  I  the  happiest  girl  in 
the  world.  Now  I'm  off  to  take  Mimms  for  a 
perfectly  horrid  little  walk,  to  see  Thorwald- 
sen's  Lion.  If  I  ever  get  home  to  blessed  East 
Ephesus  I'll  walk  out  by  myself  after  dark,  see 
if  I  don't." 

Gwendolyn's  face,  when  she  was  left  alone 
with  these  surprising  revelations,  was  very  pale. 
After  deliberation  she  took  out  a  cable  code 
Mr.  Mordaunt  had  sent  her  for  exigencies,  and 
patched  together  words  conveying  the  following 
message : 

"  Fear  daughter's  intention  to  marry.  Had  better  come 
at  once.  Meet  us  Paris.  Will  watch  faithfully  till  then." 
*  *  *  *  * 

They  had  found  refuge  from  observation  in  a 
quiet  and  cozy  little  hotel  just  out  of  the  Champs 
Elyse"es.  For  some  days  following  their  arrival 
in  Paris  Cecily  had  been  under  a  spell  of  gentle- 
ness. She  did  not  again  allude  to  her  hopes  and 
prospects,  and  Gwendolyn,  trusting  the  matter 
310 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

had  blown  by,  said  nothing,  but  never  left  her 
side.  Cecily  did  not  know  that  her  father  was 
expected.  It  had  been  agreed  between  Mor- 
daunt  and  his  daughter's  chaperon  to  give  his 
visit  the  air  of  a  happy  afterthought. 

When  the  day  came  that  should  bring  relief  to 
the  citadel  Gwendolyn  breathed  a  long  sigh. 
Soon  after  their  early  breakfast  Cecily  asked  for 
the  company  of  Mimms  to  make  some  purchases 
at  the  Bon  Marche".  She  had  equipped  herself  so 
charmingly,  her  face  and  person  breathed  such 
radiancy  of  good  health  and  happiness,  that 
Gwendolyn  could  not  resist  giving  the  child  a 
parting  squeeze  and  kiss. 

"I  shall  wait  for  you  to  go  in  to  the  second 
breakfast,  dear,"  she  said,  affectionately. 

"Ah,  Gwen,  how  I  love  you!"  cried  the  girl 
with  a  sudden  burst.  "Never  be  angry  with  me; 
I  was  not  brought  up  like  other  girls." 

She  was  gone.  The  little  open  cab  containing 
her  and  the  grim  Miss  Mimms  rattled  down  the 
stony  street  to  the  Elysian  Fields.  Gwendolyn 
sighed. 

"She  has  tangled  herself  in  my  heart-strings, 
certainly.  I  could  not  bear  her  to  think  me 
treacherous.  But  my  first  duty  was  to  him." 

As  the  hours  passed  she  grew  fidgety,  rear- 
ranged the  ornanients,  the  flowers,  the  books,  in 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 

their  pretty  salon — ran  to  the  window  to  look  at 
many  cabs,  and  when  at  last  the  one  arrived  that 
contained  John  Mordaunt,  was  quite  unaware  of 
it. 

He  was  treading  on  the  heels  of  the  gar9on 
who  came  up  to  announce  him — in  her  presence 
before  she  realized  it. 

"I  knew  you  long  ago  through  Mrs.  Payne; 
but  you  could  not  be  supposed  to  identify  me," 
he  said,  with  strong  feeling,  as  he  took  her  hand. 
"You  have  not  changed  in  the  least.  And  to 
think  that  all  these  years  I  could  not  find  out 
whom  you  had  married." 

Gwendolyn  blushed  deeply,  and  drew  her  hand 
from  his. 

"It  was  so  good  of  you  to  relieve  my  anxiety 
about  our  girl,"  she  answered.  "Now  I  begin 
to  think  she  said  it  to  frighten  me." 

"No  matter,  since  I  am  here.  But  where  is 
she — my  darling  torment?" 

Gwendolyn  explained. 

"Then  sit  down  and  let  us  learn  each  other  all 
over  again, "  said  this  taking-for-granted  Senator, 

Gwendolyn  did  not  know  why  she  obeyed;  the 
moments  flew,  she  telling,  he  listening,  and 
vice  versa.  They  were  rudely  interrupted  by 
the  bursting  open  of  the  door  and  the  entrance 
of  Miss  Minims,  aghast. 


WANTED:   A   CHAPERON 

"Oh!  sir!  Oh!  m'm,"  she  cried,  breathless. 
"I've  lost  her.  For  the  last  hour  I've  been  sit- 
ting in  the  waiting-room  at  the  Bon  Marche",  as 
she  bid  me,  and  she's  never  come  back.  And  at 
last  a  little  boy  came  and  put  this  note  in  my 
hand  for  Mrs.  West,  and  told  me  the  young  lady 
said  I  was  to  go  along  home  to  the  hotel." 

"  My  own  Gwenny,  forgive  me,"  ran  the  note.  "  I 
couldn't  bear  to  meet  him  in  a  horrid,  ordinary  way.  We 
are  off  on  top  a  tram  to  take  our  luncheon  at  Versailles, 
and  by  five  o'clock  I'll  be  back  and  introduce  him  to  you 
in  proper  fashion." 

"If  it's  that  scoundrel  Moffat,  he'll  never 
bring  her  back,"  shouted  John  Mordaunt.  "He 
well  knows  she  has  a  fortune  from  her  uncle 
coming  to  her  on  her  marriage  with  no  matter 
whom.  He'll  get  her  off  somewhere  and  manage 
to  have  a  ceremony  performed  before  he  is  inter- 
rupted. He — " 

"I  believe  in  Cecily,"  said  Gwendolyn,  quietly. 
"Let  us,  you  and  I,  Mr.  Mordaunt,  go  directly 
in  pursuit  of  them.  Cecily  is  foolish,  reckless, 
but  she  would  never  give  you — and  me — that 
pain." 

"Then  it  is  you  who  have  made  her  know  her- 
self! God  bless  you,"  said  the  agitated  man. 
"Ah!  Gwendolyn,  why  did  I  not  have  you  from 
the  first?" 

313 


WANTED:    A    CHAPERON 


Miss  Mimms  afterward  averred  that  you  might 
have  knocked  her  down  with  a  feather  when,  that 
afternoon,  the  whole  party  of  four  came  driving 
up  to  the  door  of  the  hotel.  (Miss  M.  had  spent 
most  of  her  day  suspended  like  a  banner  for  roy- 
alty out  of  the  windows  of  the  first  floor.)  He, 
the  young  lady's  papa — looking  like  a  general  or  a 
judge,  she  couldn't  exactly  say  which,  but  as  fine 
a  show  of  a  man  as  she  wished  ever  to  see;  Mrs. 
West,  so  happy  and  smiling,  just  like  a  little 
girl  that  has  got  a  present  she'd  been  crying  for; 
and  Miss  Mordaunt — well,  nobody  could  beat 
her  for  looks  and  pretty  ways.  At  the  very  top 
of  the  steps  didn't  she  seize  Mimms  and  hug  her, 
and  introduce  her  to  "Mr.  Angus  McCrea,  the 
young  man  that  ran  away  with  me  this  morning, 
and  that's  going  to  be  my  husband"? 

For  Mr.  Angus  McCrea  it  was  who  had  wooed 
Cecily's  roving  heart  into  his  safe-keeping — a 
fine,  manly  young  fellow,  to  whom  even  John 
Mordaunt,  the  discourager  of  sons-in-law,  could 
not  take  exception. 

"And  at  any  rate,"  whispered  saucy  Cecily, 
"it's  easy  to  see  they  were  old  sweethearts, 
Gwen  and  papa.  They  are  so  taken  up  with 
each  other,  Angus,  you  and  I  might  give  them  a 
lesson  in  self-control." 


PRINTED  BY  R.  R.  DONNELLEY 
AND  SONS  COMPANY  AT  THE 
LAKESIDE  PRESS,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


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Return  this  material  to  the  library 

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